


Rent Boy

by FictitiousFanatisch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Crossdressing, Dark, Dark Liam, Dark Niall, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Gay Club, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pole Dancing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slight feminization, Stripping, Violence, americanized, mental/psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 34
Words: 131,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/chestpaynez/playlist/1Owd33oacuBlkt5qfyCyWB">AU</a>: Harry lost his freedom at eighteen. He lives in a house just outside the city with several other girls who are forced to prostitute themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. z e r o

The frigid night air prickled his skin, goosebumps an indicator of the negative temperatures. The boy stood on the dark corner of the street with his back against the wall, his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his tight black jeans. Under the lamppost he exhaled, watching his warm breath rise up into the foggy night sky.

He stood there alone and in silence, the way he liked it best.

Cars occasionally drove past, broken headlights flickering, exhaust fumes burning, puddles of rainwater splashing, horns honking.

He had his backpack slung over his shoulders. At this point it was old and raggedy, threads unfurling and the zippers broken. His shoes were in the same poor condition, holes in the toes and soles.

His head bobbed forward with his exhaustion. He startled awake and looked around him every now and then. It wasn't smart to fall asleep of the streets unprotected, but he didn't have any place to go.

He didn't normally stay in one city for long. He didn't want to grow attached to any place. He was a lost boy.

He had no home.

Not anymore.

The lost boy felt his heart rate leap when a black suv pulled up at the sidewalk just a few feet in front of him. He gulped, clutched the straps of his backpack as he closed his eyes; composed himself.

He took one final deep breath before stepping forward and away from the stable brick wall. He ran a hand through his tangled dark curls as he approached the vehicle.

The passenger window rolled down and he leaned in, rested his forearms in the window.

Talking price wasn't anything remotely important. He didn't care and that carelessness would lead to his demise. All he knew was that he needed to eat tomorrow. He wasn't concerned about the cash or the service. He just needed a place to be.

He needed a purpose.

Something he was good at.

The eighteen year old boy pulled open the door by the handle and hopped into the car, removed his backpack and placed it on the floor between his knees.

He stared out the dark glass as the car began moving once more.

He took a shaky breath, wringing his clasped hands together in his lap anxiously.

He watched from the window as the dim light of the lamppost drifted farther and farther away as the tires rolled.

He didn't know where he was going or whether or not he would still be alive in the next 24 hours. That was the excitement of it, he thought. That was what provided the rush and the high of the adrenaline coursing through his veins; the unknown.

Harry didn't know anything.

Especially not the fact that from the moment he got into some strange car with another strange man, his captor was in the drivers seat across from him.

Harry didn't have a clue that his choice to get into that black suv was the last choice he would freely make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey you! if you're patiently awaiting a rent boy update and are interested in smutty larry crime au's featuring a vivacious heroin addict and call boy harry, a seasoned identity thief louis and lots of twisted emotional chaos, you should check out my new fic, [troublemakers](https://www.wattpad.com/294831705). i've posted it on wattpad but i plan to upload it here in the next few weeks as well. thanks so much for all the support ! i look forward to seeing you all there :)
> 
> ❤️


	2. o n e

~ ❁ ~

"Tell Liam I'm on my period, yeah?" Joe grumbled to him, slapping his arm rather harshly.

She backed away and flopped onto the bed on her back, her bleached blonde hair flipping gracelessly.

Harry rolled his eyes. The twenty-one year old leaned forward and lifted his hand up once more, meticulously applying his eyeliner.

Mariana strutted into the room in half an outfit- a hot pink bra and dark fishnets having just pulled her skirt out of the dryer.

"Sure you are," the brunette mumbled as she slid the tight skirt up her slender legs. She left a moment later, slipping into the bathroom to retrieve her hairbrush.

The room bustled about, girls moving in and out, borrowing makeup and sharing clothes. It was always unbelievably stiff in the house before a night began. The atmosphere was hot, misty and disquieted as showers were being taken, straighteners warming and pungent fumes of nail lacquer and hair spray offending the air. It was going to be another long night on the cold Philly streets. Harry could feel it.

"She's had her period for two weeks straight," Harry huffed in annoyance, rummaging through his bag of cosmetics in search of his matte scarlet lipstick.

Liza chuckled slyly from where she sat on the side of the bed, rubbing lotion up and down her clean shaven legs.

"You wouldn't understand, Harry." Lauren sighed as she wandered into the room grasping her top. She was always so docile, so soft spoken and demure. Harry was hardly impressed. It was especially annoying with the way she was always complaining about her back and how sore her feet were. Harry was so glad he couldn't get pregnant.

Lauren crawled onto the bed next to her girlfriend, the two of them cuddling up together, talking and kissing and fondling each other as if they hadn't been together for the past year. Pathetic. Joe placed her hand over Lauren's belly, rubbed it, gave her that sickeningly soft smile as she asked her how she was feeling. It was disgusting.

"I don't know. Maybe he would," Liza murmured as she stood, her thick urban accent oozing contempt. She put in her golden hoop earrings beside Harry, rudely nudging him aside to use the mirror.

"You're awful," Harry growled at her, snatching his perfume as she went to bum some of it off him. He moved further into the room to where Mariana was now digging through the closet for a shirt to wear. Harry weaseled beside her to grab his heels from the top shelf.

"I'm just sick of people cheating. I go out every night," he growled as he plopped his ass onto the bed, effectively shoving the blonde from where she lay, making out with her girlfriend.

Joe sat up a little and with one hand covering Lauren's bump, slapped the side of Harry's face with the other. He turned and hissed at her.

"You wouldn't get it, _Princess_ ," Joe retorted hotly, her eyes darkened in defense.

"Don't call me that, Cunt!" Harry snapped, grabbing a bunch of his hair and moving it out of his face. "You've been making excuses all week. You can't blame me for getting frustrated," he murmured the last part.

"Hey Harry, can I borrow some mascara?" Mariana asked, politely interrupting the conflict. She stood at the end of the bed, pulling a tight shirt down over her chest.

"Yeah, sure," Harry glanced over to her. "Just put it back when you're done,"

He liked Mari the best. She held her own, never got into trouble and tried her best to stay out of altercation with the other girls. Usually Harry did as well, but Joe was his only exception. That stupid girl had a mouth on her and was never too frightened to use it.

"You have nothing to complain about. Your _Daddy_ buys you everything and you barely even have to sell your ass," she viciously bit back. Wow, okay— so she wanted to fight dirty. _Entirely_ uncalled for.

Harry chewed his bottom lip, color slowly spreading across his face. Joe was an absolute nightmare at times like these. It was Saturday night and everyone was tired from a long week of hustling. Harry had next to no tolerance for anyone right now. He was already starting to chafe from the tightness of his outfit and none of them had even left the house yet.

He fastened one shoe onto his foot and moved on to the other. He hated the damn shoes Liam made him wear. They were near eight inches and he felt like he was going to trip on the curb one of these days. He often leaned against the lamp post when Liam wasn't looking but it was hard because he was supposed to look sexy and he couldn't do that when he was holding on for dear life. He was damn near seven feet tall and had precarious fucking noodle legs and one of these days they would be the cause of his detriment.

"If you're really bleeding as much as you say you are, then maybe you ought to see a doctor," Harry said in a soft, mocking tone. He was such a bitch sometimes. He honestly couldn't help it.

"You know what? At least I don't bleed when Liam fucks me!" Joe jeered, her voice booming throughout the walls of the room.

Harry was about to retort when the toxins of her words sunk in to his brain. He swallowed the sharp taste of bile at the back of his throat. Bitter, he shut his mouth and leant over, buckling the thin strap of the glossy black stiletto around his ankle. He stood up quickly and flipped his curls out, ignoring the girl's hurtful words.

"That's too far, Joey," the pregnant girl murmured from next to the blonde. Joe looked down to her _baby_ , her _love_ , her _darling -_ and practically melted.

"Sorry, Baby," the older girl whispered, her brown eyes tender, all lividness leaving her instantaneously. Of course she didn't bother apologizing to Harry, though. Because Lauren's perception of her was obviously more important than his actual feelings. Typical.

He didn't feel like being in the room with any longer. It was warm, causing him to sweat and he was getting uncomfortable as his makeup began to stick to his face. He pushed through Liza and Mari to get to the bathroom.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, examining his adorned features: his plucked eyebrows, blood red lips and sinfully smoky eyes. He's spent a lot of time on his makeup, sculpting his features and gluing down false eyelashes. He definitely thought of himself as the prettiest of the girls. He was most certainly the brightest, the most desired.

He adjusted his tuck and straightened out the wrinkles in his skirt. He looked good. He felt good. There was absolutely no reason Liam wouldn't want to bed him tonight. And if that happened, then maybe he would get the night off tomorrow.

He sighed before leaving the bathroom. Mariana had just put her brown hair up into a pony tail and was ready to head out.

"Ready, Babe?" He asked as her shiny hazel eyes caught his.

"Yep," Mari nodded. The two clacked their way down the foyer and walked out the front door together. Harry went down the concrete steps first, his magenta painted hand outstretched to steady him on the walk down. Mariana followed closely behind.

All along the street there were already girls working. Men hollered and whistled, girls giggled and waved. Two more of Liam's girls were already standing at the corner, strutting and moving their hips at an approaching car. The girls, Sandra and Ira, were good Harry had to admit. They had skill.

Harry walked along the sidewalk, flipping his long hair and licking his waxy lips. He didn't have to think of himself as the best- he knew he was. He wasn't Liam's favorite for naught, that's for sure. He knew how to move his body and what the guys liked to see. He knew he was beautiful and he used that to his advantage.   
It was easy for him.

Mariana took her normal space somewhere on the opposite side of the road within his eyesight. He took hold of his lamp post as soon as he saw it. He put his arms behind his back, clasped his hands onto the pole and stood there.   
It didn't take long.

The first man approached him in mere minutes.

"How much?" The man asked, his voice deep, unsure. Harry twirled his index finger in one of his curls, biting his lip before responding.

Then he gave that same rehearsed answer that he learned three long years ago. "Fifty for a hand job. Hundred for a blow job. Two hundred if you want all the way," He no longer had to think about it. It was in his nature.

He fluttered his eyelashes, opened his eyes to look at the man. He was older. At least in his forties, indicative by the patch of grey in his hair. Harry mostly slept with older men. Not too many young men could afford more than a hand job if they could afford him at all. Liam made the most money on this side of the city because while there were others in the sex trading business none of them charged nearly as much as what Liam did. Liam hand picked his employees, in a sense, bred them for the trade. It's what made his supply worth popular demand.

"Pay upfront. No exceptions," Harry said, trailing his hand down his own chest, his tight shirt showing off his perky nipples.

The man audibly swallowed, reached into his wallet and retrieved the money. Harry stared at him for a long while as he doled out the cash. He watched him count the bills one by one before handing them over.

Harry smiled, making sure to show off his dimples for the kill. "One sec'," he whispered as seductively as possible. The man visibly shivered, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Harry winked before scampering over to one of Liam's favorite boys.

"Hold this 'till Liam gets back," Harry leant over the steps and handed the money to Niall. Niall didn't speak. He snatched the cash and Harry frowned. Niall was always mean to him and the girls. He didn't know why. It wasn't like they had ever done anything to him. Whatever.

Harry quickly returned to his man, unwilling to provide poor service to a paying customer.  
"My car is just up the street," Harry nodded and took the man's offered hand. He ran his thumb along the back of the man's hand, his lips twitching with unease as he walked quickly alongside him. There was always something potent, and dangerous about what he did. There was a word trapped the back of his throat; an emotion lost in the twisted vines of his soul.

Harry closed his tired eyes. He knew not to think too much about what he was doing. He couldn't help it, sometimes. It was unsettling when he followed a stranger out of the safety of Liam's eyesight. He knew was still somewhat capable of defending himself if anything were to go wrong. He wasn't afraid.

The older man led Harry to an expensive looking two door vehicle. The man opened the passenger side for Harry and the boy climbed in. The seats were a soft, luxurious leather. He couldn't help but brush his knuckles across the headrest, savoring the unfamiliar sensation. Harry was a sucker for expensive things. It was ironic, considering the life he lived.

"What's your name?" Harry inquired, as the man closed the driver's side door behind them, pressing down the lock.

"Marshall," The man provided, his eyes following the trail down Harry's throat to his chest. Harry smiled gently, moving to run the pad of his finger along the inner seam of Marshall's clothed thigh.

"'M Harry," he said, allowing the older to see his eyes. Eyes were indeed the window to the soul. It was important that he established some sort of communication with his clients. It was one of the reasons Liam prized him so much. He understood basic psychology, knew the human body and studied it's emotional pressure points. People chose Harry more often because he was different from the others - ' _special'_ , in Liam's words.

"Pleasure to meet you, Harry," Marshall hummed, the vision of congeniality. His eyes flashed as Harry began to move closer.

"Do you like to be kissed?" Harry asked, daring to move his hand up to cup the side of Marshall's face. He brushed his thumb along his cheekbone, the scruff of his stubble tickling Harry's palm.

"You don't have to. You can just -" Marshall paused, clearing his throat after a moment. Harry's brows knitted together in confusion. The older man smiled, gesturing to the tent hiding beneath his slacks.

"Okay," Harry nodded, once he began to follow the general outline for the way Marshall wanted to do things.

"Only if you're sure," Harry smiled as he took in Marshall's features. He tucked a soft piece of his hair behind his ear, marveling at his beauty. There was something marvelous about aging - a particular radiance; a certain glow that only showed in a face that had seen the world at many stages, both at its best and in the depths of its worst. Harry wondered if he'd one day be able to get out of here, experience the world as it was meant to be experienced.

Harry got to work immediately after that. He didn't like to keep his customers waiting. The older man unzipped his dress pants, sat back comfortably against the plush leather seats as Harry lightly palmed him through his boxers. Marshall keened at that, shutting his eyes as he let the feeling completely overcome. Harry sucked a kiss on the supple skin of his patron's lower stomach, slowly tugging at the waistband of his underwear. He listened to the sounds as they poured from Marshall's lips, using that to gauge stimulation.

Harry leaned down, bracing his hands on Marshall's hips to steady his movement as he parted his lips. He clenched his eyelids, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen. Contrary to the common misconception, Harry wasn't a slut. He didn't like having multiple penises in his mouth or shoved up his ass on a regular basis. People all over the world end up in jobs they aren't happy with.  So he tried not to think very much when servicing a costumer- it made things that much more bearable. It also helped that he was good at his job. He was stellar at giving head. He'd been told on numerous occasion.

"Shit," the man groaned, his head falling back against the seat as soon as Harry wrapped his lips around his cock. Harry could tell Marshall was easy. He hummed softly, using the flat of his tongue to smoothen the glide.

"Fucking — _God_ , you're good," Marshall praised, hesitantly placing his hand on the back of Harry's head. The boy sank down a little deeper, fighting his gag reflex to take Marshall even further down his throat.

"You can — uh, fuck my face? If that's something you-," Harry suggested as he pulled off, wiping a string of saliva from his bottom lip. He could already see the dark smudges of his lipstick on his hand, around Marshall's girth.

"Y-yeah. Okay, Baby," The older man breathed, visibly bothered by the way Harry just- offered himself like that. _Fuck_ , it was probably a sight. Harry empathized. He knew he was beautiful.

Without another word, Marshall gripped the back of Harry's hair and pressed him down into his groin. The brute force tickled his uvula, causing him to gag just slightly. Harry breathed out harshly through his nose as he allowed Marshall's cock back into his throat.

"'Feels good," Marshall groaned, his hips slowly rocking up in time with every bob of Harry's neck. The boy sucked earnestly, using his tongue every few thrusts to tease the tip and further incite the flow of precome. He could tell he was doing a very good job.

After another few minutes his tongue was growing sore. He couldn't see the man's expression, and he wasn't speaking anymore, but Harry could feel the way Marshall's balls drew tense with every beat closer to orgasm. Harry let his mind wander after that, putting up with the logistics so he didn't have to stay present for much longer.

He did his best work early in the night anyway, before his bones grew heavy, his eyes aching for rest and his chest sweltering with pent up frustrations. He grasped the man's hips and bobbed his head up and down, his throat working double time to finish his man off as quickly as possible. Marshall's fingers were cruel on the nape of Harry's neck, scrabbling for purchase around the base of his skull as he rolled his hips up once, twice and oh, _fuck_ — he was coming.

Harry let him grind out his high, remained immaculately still as Marshall used him, came down his throat, then yanked him up by his hair to alleviate the pressure on his oversensitive length.

"You're... something— _magnificent_ ," Marshall exhaled, his chest rising and falling in harsh debauchery. Harry smiled timidly, wiping a couple stay tears from the curve of his cheek.

"I don't usually, ah, do this but... here," Marshall bit his lip as he tugged his pants back up around his waist, soon retrieving his wallet from his back pocket.

Harry watched with intrigue, playing with the hem of his skirt patiently though every tendon in his body screamed to get away. He sighed. _No_.

"Y-you don't have to-"

"I want to. That was," Marshall laughed, carding a hand across his salt and pepper hair. "...well deserving,"

Harry blushed at his words, preening internally as the older patron slipped an extra twenty dollars into his hand. It wasn't often Harry got tips of this much. Many men thought his price was ridiculous enough as it were.

"Thank you so much," Harry sang, offering the man a broad, artificial smile. Marshall had a new glint in his colorless eyes, which gave a discomfiting feel when paired among the shadows of the city, the neon glow of street signs. He ran a calloused hand across the front of his pants, his top row of teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His stamina was impressive for sure - perhaps he took something.

"Pretty mouth," The tired man mumbled, reaching across the console to trace his thumb along Harry's upper lip. Harry smiled lowly, dropping his gaze. A shiver ricocheted up his spine at the touch.

"I have to go now," He mumbled, feeling slightly uncomfortable under Marshall's scrutiny. As much as he'd rather stay here with this beautiful man and get him off again and again, he just had to go. This was a business, and things wouldn't go over well if those involved chose to forget.

"We'll do it again sometime," Harry promised. He peered up at Marshall, hoping to make him understand. He was reluctant to pull away from him, but somehow Harry mustered the strength. He popped the car lock, pushed open the door slid out, his skirt riding up in the back. He ran a weary hand over his shoulder as he made his way around the corner and back to the lamp post, resuming his position. 

~ ❁ ~

Somewhere around one in the morning, Liam rolled around the block. Harry was in the back of some troll's van, his skirt up around his waist with a cock buried deep inside of him while he scratched at the foggy windows.

After he had finished with the paying customer, he climbed out of the car with flushed cheeks and messy hair. He reapplied his lipstick and fluffed his hair in a nearby window before strutting over to where Niall sat on the front step.

There, Liam was talking to Liza. She was in one of Harry's outfits. He could tell because she looked awful in it. It was a tiny little thing; a tight black crop top and denim blue overalls. She was wearing brown boots with it and _ugh_ they didn't even match. Liam had his hand on her waist and it made Harry see red.

Liam's big brown eyes tore away from Liza's trashy ass when Harry approached.

" _Damn_ ," Liam hissed, making Harry flush even hotter with the attention.

"Are those the ones I bought for you?" Harry's pimp asked, excitedly.

Harry nodded with a glorious smile, doing a full spin for Liam.

"You look hot, Baby. You're my favorite for a reason." Liam said as he reached out and grabbed Harry by the waist.

Harry bit his lip, a dainty excitement bubbling up in his chest as Liam yanked him closer. He moulded their lips together, one hand firm against Harry jaw to part his teeth for his tongue. Harry felt every emotion in that moment. And for now, with the spindles of night curling through Harry's hair, cold nipping at his hot skin— all was unexplainable, undeniable, irrational and irrevocable. Liam appreciated him, valued him above all else. He kissed Harry deeply in front of all the others, utterly unabashed and willing to showcase his favoritism. He belonged to Liam. This was his purpose. He was the best and couldn't get enough of it. He didn't have to do anything else to prove it to the other girls. Liam did that all on his own.

The older man pulled back, still firmly grasping Harry's waist.

"Now go on. Go make Daddy some money," Liam whispered to him, lips scraping along the shell of his ear. Harry exhaled and nodded, his eyes swimming with subservience. Liam quickly released him and he stumbled away, feeling wonderful and foolish.

The remainder of the night passed by in a blur. He worked ten times harder now that he had Liam's voice on replay in his brain, acting as an incentive, a reminder that his work wasn't for naught. He surpassed the margin and when he got back to the house after a long walk from the motel down the road, he plopped down on the couch, kicked off his heels and rubbed his swollen feet.

He was starving but there probably wasn't anything to eat in the house and it was too early for any shops to be open. Plus, it was past curfew.

Harry drifted to sleep to the sound of Liam grunting another girl's name.

~ ❁ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey to all those reading for the first time ! i love this story and i hope you do too. :)  
> just so you know, rent boy is continuously being edited on both [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/35891564-rent-boy-hs) & ao3, so if you read it through once already it might be different if you were to go back. particularly chapters five, three, and eight have been immensely edited. just a heads up. no plot changes have occurred. just major improvements.  
> i'm hoping to do some more editing as we start to wrap up. thanks to all for reading/commenting! i appreciate the feedback.


	3. t w o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know, Harry's character is so lost in the mental implications of living such a sad life that he might seem bitchy and annoying for the first few chapters. Psychologically this is his way to mask the pain he does in fact feel, and to appear invincible to the other girls in the house. I think this is explained more in depth as the chapters get longer and the content goes deeper. 
> 
> Also if you have any questions feel free to ask in the comments below :)
> 
> ♡

~ ❁ ~

"Get up," Are the words that woke Harry. He rubbed his raccoon eyes and squinted at the light. It was too early.

"It's three o'clock. We're tryna watch tv. Get off the couch," Ira muttered at him. Joe stood next to her, arms folded, tapping her foot in annoyance.

"Fuck off..." Harry grumbled, curling in on himself.

"You smell like shit." Joe chided. He couldn't care less. He was so exhausted.

"Yeah, Harry. Just go take a shower. You can sleep later," Ira suggested. He was much nicer than Joe but she was still a bitch. Anyone who interrupted Harry's sleep was a bitch.

"Uhhhh," Harry groaned as he sat up.

"Liz made lunch. She's in a good mood today," Ira said innocently. Harry's mouth tasted like sweat and desperation.

"I don't care," Harry got up. He retrieved his shoes from the floor and stood. He was sore and tired so he ignored them all the way to his room.

Liam let Harry have his own room to keep his things and to change in. He still had different body parts from the girls. It wasn't really _his_ room. He still had to share it with girls when they got ready, and the overnight guys from time to time. They came first, according to Liam.

Harry trudged into his room and dropped his heels. He wanted to crawl under the sheets and go back to bed, but his ravenous stomach would not allow it.

He grabbed some tight jeans from his bag of clean laundry, picked a moderately sweat-smelling shirt from the many on the floor and slipped into the bathroom across the hall.

He was always the last one up and the last one to shower so there was no hot water left. His teeth chattered as he stepped out of the shower and dried off. He pulled the jeans on commando and then the shirt. He washed his eyes and mouth of the remnants of last night before putting his hair up in a bun. He pissed and left the bathroom to pillage the kitchen.

"He told me I was beautiful. Afterwards," Liza was standing around with Lauren and Sandra, whispering about her experience with Liam.

Harry scoffed as he dug through the cupboards. He looked and looked but all he could find were stale generic cereal brands and brown bananas.

"I don't know why I was nervous. He was so gentle," Liza said softly, moving her hair out of her face and tucking a good bit of it behind her ear.

"Is that a hickey?" Lauren asked, her baby blue eyes warm and pure with intrigue. She pointed to Liza's neck, a shocked expression on her face.

"Yeah... I guess it is," Liza smiled. She was awful. They all were.

"Um. I thought there was food?" Harry interrupted the group of girls, his deep voice over powering the other light tones.

"Oh, I'm sorry Harry. I ate the last sandwich," Lauren placed her hand over her swollen tummy with an apologetic look on her face. Harry couldn't feel angry when her cheeks were that naturally rosy. She was the youngest of them--fifteen. She wasn't allowed to leave the house. She was a runaway, like most of them. Liam thought it would be more secure for her to work from home than to go out in the open. She took clients to bed a few times a week.

"I guess it's fine," Harry sighed.

"I wonder what makes him take girls to bed. I've never slept with Liam but some girls go all the time," Sandra commented.

Harry bit his tongue. He hated hearing them talk about Liam like he was some prize. It made him seethe with jealously.

Not for the reason everyone thought. Harry was a one man act. He worked hard for the things he had. He had earned them. Harry liked to have everything at his fingertips precursor so he never had to be at anyone's mercy. If he needed something, he could ask Liam and he would most likely receive it. Harry was proud of that fact. It just bothered him to see and hear those young girls chattering about something they hardly understood. Liam didn't care about them. He never would.

"I'm going out," Harry announced. Those were the key words. Liza stopped talking mid-sentence, Sandra bolted from the kitchen to their room, Joe hollered at him from the living room; all giving him orders.

"Yeah, pick me up some tampons will ya?" Joe belted at him.

"Alright." He took the shopping list from Sandra and added a few more items to it.

"Is that it?" He asked the house.

"Yes, thank you," Liza said to him.

Harry grabbed his big leather bag from his room; the most recent one Liam bought him with the gold chains and the sleek texture. He slipped on his boots at the door and put his sunglasses on. He walked out into the afternoon heat, waved to Mariana who was smoking a cigarette on the front step.

"Need anything?" Harry asked the girl, clutching the shopping list in his hand.

"No thanks." She shook her head as she exhaled the dark smoke.

"See ya," Harry said as he headed off down the street.

He wasn't worried about getting mugged. It was the worst part of the neighborhood, but it was home to Harry. Everyone was used to each other and no one tried to start fights with the pimps and their girls. Harry considered them lucky. Liam was good to them. He was usually a very reasonable man. They made him a lot of money and kept him happy. In turn, he protected them. Harry didn't feel scared like he figured a normal white collar person would walking through these parts of the hood. He felt big and important. If anything, the world should be afraid of him.

Harry walked through the quick mart with a jangle, removing his glasses and looking around.

The clerk at the counter mumbled a greeting to him and he smiled at the little Asian man.

Harry began his quest, looking through the shelves, getting chips and fruits and some granola bars. The clerk eyed him suspiciously but he smiled and hummed as he rounded the corner to the back of the store. He took a few bottles of liquor from the fridge, stuffed them deep in the depths of his bag. He found the ladies hygienics and picked through them, choosing some heavy flow tampons for Joe.

He grabbed some bread and eggs and took out his wallet before walking to the front counter. He flashed a sweet smile at the man, paid the ten dollars for the groceries and got a receipt.

"Have a nice day," Harry said as he put his sunglasses on once more.

The clerk nodded and waved back. He hardly spoke English, Harry noticed. He was a sweet looking man. In another life, Harry might have felt bad for stealing from him. He looked familiar. Maybe Harry had blown him before.

Harry pushed through the jangling door and started on his walk back to the house.

~ ❁ ~

Harry placed his bag on the table, the girls swarming around him, rifling through to find what they wanted. He stepped back to take the eggs to the refrigerator. He unloaded the bags as he heard Joe ranting in the background "Um, I don't need no heavy flow. The fuck you get this for?"

"Quit complaining. I told you. It's not normal to be bleeding so much," Harry smirked to himself. He tore open a granola bar and popped it into his mouth.

"Sandra, go take the trash out," Ira hollered from the kitchen. She was the oldest and was always ordering people around. She was up to her arms in soapy dishes, her hair up as he worked.

"I took it out last time. Tell Liza to do it," Sandra called from lounging on the couch. Harry sucked on his granola as the girls bantered.

"I'm busy."

"So am I,"

"Just do it,"

"I'm not moving right now,"

"I'll get it," Lauren huffed as he walked over to the garbage can.

"No, no! Let me," Joe said, sliding in between Lauren and the trash.

"I can do it. I'm not an invalid," Lauren grumbled to Joe as she took the white plastic bag out of the kitchen.

"I know, but your pregnant, baby. I'll take care of it," Joe said as she took the trash to the bin outside.

Lauren sat down at the kitchen table with a huff.

Harry looked around. "Is Liam back?" He asked Ira as he finished his granola bar, tossing the wrapper into the empty bin. Liam was the only guy in the house most of the time. Niall sometimes stayed over if he needed a place to crash or a bitch to fuck.

Ira wiped her the sweat from her temple. "Oh, uh. Yeah," she answered, as she grabbed a towel from the countertop to dry the plate in her hands.

Harry looked up. "Did he say anything?"

"Nah. I don't think so. He was looking for you, though," Ira sighed absentmindedly.

Harry left from the kitchen in a flash. He grabbed his purse from the table and stopped to his room to pull off his boots. He placed it on the mattress and grabbed a nice bottle of liquor from the bag. He stopped by the bathroom to freshen up; brushed his teeth and applied a little lipgloss. He put a spritz of perfume on and then flicked the light off. He walked to the end of the hallway and knocked on the door, the cool glass bottle resting in his arms.

"Yeah," Liam answered. He sounded like he was in bad mood. Harry swallowed as he opened the door.

"You were looking for me?" Harry entered the room slowly.

Liam was sitting on the edge of his bed counting money when Harry walked in. He was in sweats and sneakers, his black tank showing off his big muscular biceps.

"Yes, actually. I was at Manny's club earlier." Liam started, wiping his hands on his pants legs.

Harry bit his lip, gripping the alcohol.

"Are you working?" Liam asked, his voice stern.

"Yes. Of course," Harry nodded.

"Are you working _hard_?" He inquired, one eyebrow lifted. Harry looked down and felt his face grow hot. He hated when Liam talked down to him.

"I... I'm trying. It's a tough crowd," Harry whined, giving Liam the big pouty eyes. He and Mari worked the stage on Friday and Tuesday nights. They went out into the city together and took the bus back before morning. Mariana was a dancer in the cage at a local nightclub. She was good and made a lot of money. Harry was at the gay club maybe a mile or two up the street. They were the only two that had stable jobs. Harry worked his ass off but it was never good enough for his pimp.

"You gotta work hard, baby." Liam sighed, all sternness leaving him. Harry loved how soft Liam could be. He wasn't typically mean like other pimps. He was kind and treated his girls with respect. He never beat them or yelled at them without a reason. That didn't mean punishments weren't given if necessary, but in general, Liam was a good man.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Harry whimpered as Liam invited him to sit in his lap. Harry sat down and Liam started to rub his back.

"You make me proud everyday, Princess," Liam whispered in Harry's ear, scruffy beard tickling the nape of his neck.

Harry bit his lip and hummed in response, let Liam rub his calloused hands down his body, smoothing down the inside of his thigh.

"You're the best." He murmured, kissing Harry's neck.

"I got this for you, Daddy," Harry said. He lifted the bottle out of his lap and turned slightly. He handed it to Liam and rested his head on the older man's shoulder.

"This looks expensive," Liam noted, turning the bottle in his hands.

"Yep," Harry replied, his glossy pink lips turned up in a smile.

"Thank you," Liam leaned forward, gave Harry a sweet kiss. Harry smiled into it, threw his arms around Liam's neck and tilted his head.

Harry didn't particularly like kissing Liam. He always tasted like marijuana and smelled like sweat. His lips were warm and pink and it was fun, sometimes, sure. Harry honestly did it to distract the man so he didn't have to hear Liam scold him.

"Baby..." Liam mumbled, their lips still connected.

"Yeah?" Harry shifted in Liam's lap. He was hoping to get a chance to sleep with Liam. Liam always let the girls he fucked have the night off. It had been a week since Harry last got his chance and he really wanted to stay home tonight.

"You can't distract me." Liam tutted, pecking Harry's lips once before pulling away. His hand slid underneath Harry's shirt and the boy shivered.

"But... Daddy..." Harry groaned, his eyelashes fluttering. "I'm so horny," Actually, Harry was sore and exhausted but he was willing to go a couple of rounds for the cause.

Liam rubbed his back and nodded. "I know, I know. You're gagging for it, aren't you?" He cooed.

Harry pouted as Liam pushed the boy off of his lap. "Run along. I've got some business to take care of."

"And Harry." Harry was at the door when Liam called out.

"Be a good girl. Daddy's always watching,"

Harry turned back around and left the room, dissatisfied.

~ ❁ ~


	4. t h r e e

~ ❁ ~

"Oh, _shit_ ," Harry groaned sensually, grappling the man's bulging back muscles. Harry's smudged lips parted a little further with each sharp thrust of the man's hips. The bed rocked and squeaked familiarly to compliment the sound of slapping skin.

Harry played it up a bit more than usual, whimpering and blubbering through it like a baby. He did his best to create the scene for his customers - really put forth effort to give them the most submissive partner. He had to make each man feel special, and good about themselves.

Most men he serviced wanted to feel powerful and appreciated, but Harry had to read them first to find out what they liked and whether or not that was the case. His job consisted of so much more than just the sex. He had to learn their bodies, figure out what their weaknesses were, play each to his own advantage. And Harry had been doing this long enough to consider himself an expert.

"Fuck, feels so- _good_ ," he gasped, his deep voice on the verge of breaking. He gently rested his head back against the cool pillows, baring his throat for the stranger. The man rested his lips against Harry's pulse point for a moment, then parted his lips and latched his teeth on the supple skin. Harry soothed his soft hands over the man's back, traced the bumps of his spine, pressed his thumbs into his shoulder blades for purchase.

"Such a pretty slut. Like that? Hm?" The man asked sadistically, his voice a scary sound. But Harry didn't listen too closely; his mind was somewhere else.

He let his eyes roll back as his body arched, released a weak sound in the back of his throat as he focuses on making this as real as possible. With every shy inhale followed a shuddering exhale, and Harry's torso sank further into the mattress. He felt his throat move around his Adam's apple, felt wet lips tasting his sticky skin. The man sank his teeth in gently, nipped a trail of blooming red and pink up Harry's jaw.

He felt a pinch at his left nipple, let out a sharp breath in surprise. He then parted his eyelids and lifted his head, peered up at the man through bleared vision. He smiled sultrily, stroked his knuckles down the man's neck to his collarbones.

Harry bit his lip; twisted against the bed to the agonizing pressure between his hips. It was growing steadily, but wasn't pleasurable. It was just kind of there - a constant. Familiar. Ache. Harry felt nothing of it. He thought nothing of it.

He moaned softly, gliding his leg up the back of the man's thigh. It's what Harry had to do. He distracted himself from the heat his physical body underwent - focused his full attention on the customer.

"Please, fuck me harder," Harry begged, his heart pounding against his rib cage with each hard snap of strange hips against his ass. The skin rippled on contact, vibrations surging through his spent body.

The man moaned gutturally as he fucked his prostitute faster and faster. Deeper and deeper. Harder and - oh, _harder_. He was coming close - climbing toward his climax in frantic desperation. Harry was to do all in his ability to make the orgasm feel as good as possible for the man. He wanted to. He aimed to please. Always.

And so Harry ran his hands all over the man; up his biceps, over his shoulders, down his chest and back up to his neck- trying to coax him over the edge. His skin was so hot, glazed and ruddy. Harry trained his eyes onto a bead of sweat that rolled down his temple. He chose to key his focus in on the task at hand, rather than his current surrounding. It's what he often had to do in order to make it through every night - get caught up in the semantics of things.

"Come ... I, I need it. Come on Baby, _please_. Come inside me," Harry spoke out of body, staring up at the man like he was God himself. Harry cupped his hands against the man's face, thumbs brushing back and forth against the wiry stubble on his jaw. He kept on with those ministrations, whispering dirty things to his punter and paying all attention to his body and its heightened sensitivity.

Harry let his eyelids fall shut as soon as he sensed the man's rhythm drifting out of line. His thighs quivered with each and every stroke, his muscles clenched and his brow furrowed with the intense feeling of efflorescence.

"Yeah. Ye- _fuck_ ," the man muttered. He began to freeze up, blunt fingernails gouging into the underside of Harry's pudgy thighs. His heavy breaths were all that filled the dead space for a bit.

The two of them were motionless for a couple of minutes. The time passed slowly, and as Harry glanced over to the digital clock on the nightstand, he wondered when he'd be able to get out of here.

Harry swallowed thickly, his chest rising and falling quickly. He wet his waxy lips, stretched his torso up against the mattress he laid upon. His customer had collapsed on top of him, and was still mouthing hotly over his collarbones. Harry reached one hand up to wipe at his sweat glistening forehead.

Harry decidedly glanced to the right to look out the man's bedroom window. He had a brilliant view of the stars from the top floor. Resplendent stars. Bright, shimmering, diamond - like stars. Harry liked to look up at the stars. Working late nights meant he rarely got to revel in the beauty of above. And the cloudy Philadelphia smog did nothing to appease him.

The stars were visible, and as long as they continued to be so, Harry still had time. 

After what seemed to be a millennium, the scraggly man pulled out of Harry's body, disentangled their limbs and stood from the bed. Feeling numb and disposable, Harry sat up in the bed and watched as the man moved around the room.

The man threw out the condom and then picked through his discarded jeans to find his pack of cigarettes. Most customers had a smoke after a shag, Harry noted fruitlessly.

After a couple of moments, Harry started to feel the slight ache in his muscles from a long night of hustling. His lower back especially from being nearly bent in half. Harry was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to walk home in his heels.

He ran a hand through his hair, then threw his legs over the side of the bed. He was completely naked, of course. Except for a couple bracelets. His clothes had been aimlessly thrown around the room. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to breathe.

He stood to gather his things before he overstayed with welcome. Most men didn't want a dirty whore in their home for too long.

After collecting his articles, Harry sat on the side of the bed and pulled his bra on over his chest. He hooked it and slid it up over his arms. He put his panties on and tucked his soft dick inside. He rolled his stockings up to his thighs and clipped the garters to the belt. He put on his billowy red dress and then his matching heels.

He pulled it together long enough to kiss the man goodbye, leaving a messy red stain on his cheek. Hopefully the sex was satisfactory, and Harry would be seeing more of him soon.  
The man graciously slipped a little something extra into his bra and Harry winked tiredly at him before leaving.

As soon as the elevator door closed, Harry's wall broke down and he had no choice but to let his tears burst through.

He hurt so much all over. His ankles were sore and his ass was on fire. His throat was raw from his melodramatic moaning and his eyes were dry from a long sleepless night.

He sobbed until he got to the ground floor of the apartment complex. He wiped his eyes and left the building.

It started raining at five in the morning.

Harry was a ways away from the house and sunrise was in a few minutes. He was going to be punished if he couldn't find a way home in time.

Harry didn't want to get punished.

He kicked off his heels, gathered them up in one hand and hiked up his dress with the other. He started running and he didn't stop. The air was cold. His throat was dry. His stomach was empty. He felt like he was going to be sick. He had no energy left. But on he ran.

Harry was strong; stronger than most people, he thought.

He had to stop at a corner when he felt bile rising in his throat. His stomach contracted and he heaved it up, right there on the street corner, but he wiped his lip and kept on going.

He made it home just as the sun was touching the skyline.

He breathed quickly, pushing open the door and collapsing on the dirty floor.

He laid there for a long time. He knows that. He coughed and cried, his whole body in agony.

Harry was sure no one was up. Everybody had to pull their weight and the other girls all normally made their minimum earlier in the night. Liam was right. Harry was falling off his game, but he didn't know how or why.

He got up eventually; when his respiration returned to normal and he was able to feel the muscles in his legs again. He closed the door and sulked. He was soaking wet. His makeup was all runny and he had holes in his stockings. He was a beautiful disaster. Niall was asleep at the kitchen table. He had probably been up awaiting Harry's arrival.

He trudged to his room where he found one of Liam's over night guys in his bed. He didn't even have the strength to process that.

He quietly got a change of clothes from his bag and then went to take a bath. No one was awake yet and he was sure to get some peace and quiet. He took his journal and an envelope and a pen and slithered into the bathroom.

He ran the warm water as he undressed. He placed his writing beside the tub before carefully climbing in, both hands on the sides of the tub.

He sighed as the hot steam surged through his body. His tense muscles relaxed and his fingers flexed. He closed his eyes and let the bath steady his heart beat and clear his mind.

He felt tears dripping down his face, but he wiped them away. He watched his fingers dance through the waves. He put a cupful of water over his head and hummed to himself as the warm stream trickled down his back.

He felt rejuvenated, like he was on a cloud, so far away from everything real.

He was alone.  
He liked things better, that way.

He took the bar of soap from the ledge and washed his body. He ran his soft fingers over his bruised skin, lathered the soap in and rinsed himself. He was careful washing his private parts. Although he abused himself everyday he did have hopes of having children one day. He was especially careful around his hole. It was red and tender and if he wasn't gentle he would probably end up making things worse. It wouldn't have been he first time he had to go behind Liam's back to get to the hospital because of anal tearing. So he was wary.

He dried his hands and as soon as he finished. He leaned over the edge of the tub and grabbed his notebook.

He flipped to a clean page and started writing.

' _Dear, Momma,_

_I miss you. I miss you a lot. How are you? I'm ok I guess. It should be pleasant in Florida this time of year. It's getting cold up here fast. I don't know if you've gotten any of my letters or if you're reading them. I don't expect you to write back or anything. I just miss you. A lot. Sorry I can't write much. It's hard to get alone time where I live. Roommates and all._

_How's Robin? Is he being good to you? Of course he is. You wouldn't have married him otherwise. How's Tiger? Is he still alive? He was an old thing the last I remember. I miss petting his soft fur. I was never a cat person but I fell in love with him._

_The job is going good. It's hard being a waiter and all. I get plenty of days off to like, chill but... sometimes I wish I hadn't dropped out of school. I'm sorry, Momma. I know you wanted the best life for me and all and I let you down._

_Also sorry I got the page all wet. I'm in the bathtub. I still like baths better than showers but I usually don't have the time to take a long bath._

_I love you. I wish I could come visit. Things are a little busy right now. I promise I'll see you again someday._

_I don't know if you're still looking for me or not. I think about you all the time. I'm sorry if I hurt you all those years ago. I never meant to. I just couldn't stay there any longer._

_I'm sure you are much better off without me anyway._

_But I just wanted to let you know that I'm alright. I love you so much, Momma. Please write back if you get this._

_Love, Harry._

_P.S. XOXOX_ '

**_~_ **

Harry wiped his eyes and tore out the page. He folded the letter up neatly and kissed it, before putting it into the envelope and sealing it with some water from the tub.

He scribbled the address to that lovely home in Florida by memory. He wrote out, ' _Mrs. Anne Twist_ ' in big loopy letters with love hearts surrounding the name.

Eventually he got out of the tub and wrapped himself in his towel. He dried off and washed his face and brushed his teeth. He dressed in some basketball shorts and a random t-shirt.

He drained the tub and turned off the light before leaving. His wet hair cooled his neck as he walked through the silent house. He took his letter and placed it in the binding of his journal. He stuffed the book under the couch cushions before curling up on top of it.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered until he fell asleep.

~ ❁ ~


	5. f o u r

  
~ ❁ ~

Dressed in his skimpy black outfit and golden heels he twirled on the pole, gripped it firmly from behind as he sensually ground his hips down and slowly back up. Men whooped and hollered, but they didn't give him much money. They just ogled at him.

Harry ran his hands down his body, tossed his head back and dropped his lips open as obscenely as he could.

He flipped his hair and rolled his neck and licked his raspberry lips.

A few men clapped their hands, some bears tossed ones at his naked glittery torso. He bit his lip and pulled it with his teeth, made eye contact with a few men in the club, gave them a show.

He had to do something different. He had to try something new. If they got tired of seeing the same sassy prima donna drag routine, the men would grow tired of him. He knew that. He had to pick his game back up.

As the opening bass of the next song boomed through the club, he ran his hands through his long hair. He decided maybe trying to act sexy wasn't doing it for these guys. Liam always said Harry had the sexiest smile he'd ever seen. Harry didn't understand what that meant exactly, but he decided to give it a go.

He began moving intrinsically to the beat of the music, his body swaying without much orchestration. He had always loved music; he was once in the school choir, back when he used to attend school.

He thought little of the rouge stage lights with bathed the room in a lascivious glow, his building exhaustion nor the lewd vulgarities spilling from the audience of the sexually deprived men around him — instead, he keyed his thoughts solely on the bass, the feeble pounding of his heart beneath his sternum, the soulless cry caught in an empty void. He closed his eyes and just let the music take him somewhere far away, high up in the fog of the starry night city sky.

Harry could almost feel the pulse thrumming in his veins, surging up his spine and engulfing his muscles in a feral warmth. He danced his heart out, smiling brightly and rolling his body in all the right ways. He moved with grace and finesse; a delicate and calculated hybrid of dark innocence, angelic seduction, and salacious beauty.

The song ended and when he opened his eyes, the whole club had seemingly erupted in a sea of whistling and shouts. Harry blushed madly, grinning dimply as he watched at the ground beneath him. Men were throwing money left and right. He thanked them, picked up every single cash note and stuffed them into his shorts. He clacked down from his stage and shouldered through the crowds. Men complimented him and touched him, all slaves to the gorgeous body of a vixen.

He charmed everyone in the way he did his best, naturally. He didn't have to try to look sexy. He was sexy. All he had to do was believe it. He took a deep breath as he approached the bar, hoisting himself up onto one of the stools.

A group of guys asked to buy him a drink and he agreed. His shift was already over and he figured why not.

He sat with them for a bit, a single half naked stripper chatting and talking to a bunch of well dressed strangers. He sipped a little of the mixed alcoholic beverage. He didn't really like it, but he didn't want to be rude. Instead, he ran his hands up and down his smooth legs as the men talked (in a room full of sexually starved homosexual males, Harry knew his way around lots of things).

"What's your name?" One of the men asked, gently cupping his forearm to hail his attention. Harry turned slowly, tucking a strand of his curls behind his ear as he came into contact with vivid ocean blue irises, shimmering in the radiant club atmosphere. His cheekbones were thin and sculpted, eyelashes lissomely dusting against his skin, healthy chestnut hair just lightly brushing the tips of his ears. Harry curled his lips with intrigue, his eyes brightening as he took in the man's features, following a trail down his neck to the golden skin just slightly visibly from the v of his collar.

"Harry," He boy answered, taking a smooth inhale.

"Harry," The stranger hummed to himself for a moment, his eyes flickering with some bated emotion. Harry watched him carefully, taking another grimacing sip of his beverage. The man nodded slowly before looking up once more.

"You're very beautiful, Harry,"

The boy smiled, an innocent flush adorning his pale cheeks. He scratched his lacquered nails against the nape of his neck, fiddling with the gold chain around his throat.   
"I didn't catch your name?" Harry curiously inquired as he straightened his posture, reaching his hand out and placing it against the man's thigh.

"Louis," he curtly replied, an entrancing twinkle in the dark of his eye. Harry watched Louis's Adam's apple dip as he swallowed, glancing down to the hand resting against his thigh. Harry had been told he was flirtatious, that he was always using his charm and adept psychological wit to rile men up. At this point in his life, he could hardly distinguish when he was acting in such a manner from not.

"Thank you, Louis," He decidedly answered, before removing his hand. Sometimes people didn't respond well to his tactility; the last thing Harry intended to do was to put people off.

The man smiled. After another bated sequence of convivial exchanges,  Harry stood from the table and waved goodbye to the men. He gave them all a pretty smile before heading backstage to tally up his earnings for the night. It was just about time for him to pack up and head home and if he'd made enough money to appease Liam, he wouldn't be spending any more of his night than necessary milling about the club.

He reached his locker, sat on the bench with his bare back against the cool metal. He unstrapped his heels and slipped them off of his ankles, pushing his thumbs into the balls of his feet to alleviate some of the ache. He slipped the dollars out of his shorts one by one, mumbling the numbers in sequence to himself. He sighed before staring over, counting them again. He knocked his head back against the locker in dismay; it was barely enough to buy a new pair of shoes.

He could feel the frustration building in the back of his throat, the emotion prickling at the ducts of his eyes, but he let his eyelids fall shut, taking a deep, albeit hardly calming breath. He just didn't want to cry right here, right now. It wouldn't be the first time one of the other stripper boys found Harry in here defeated, mascara running, lipstick smudged across his chin. He had worked so hard tonight, thought he'd done so much better than usual and found the solution to his financial deficit with Liam. Maybe he needed to take up some extra shifts because the older man was not going to be happy with him if he couldn't pull his weight.

If he didn't make at least five hundred dollars tonight from dancing, he was going to have to hustle. And Harry did not want to have to hustle. His soul was broken, eyes heavy lidded, but he shook his head, forcibly composing himself. He stood, opened his locker and retrieved his belongings, stuffing his earnings into his designer leather bag.

He quickly got changed into the tight black jeans he had earlier arrived in, tugged his t shirt on over his arms, straightening the thin fabric out against his torso. He wished he had brought one of his sweaters to wear, but he hadn't anticipated a night on the street corner.  He huffed to himself at his insipidity, seeing now no other option than to brace the bitter outside world.

He placed his heels in the bottom, folded his skin tight black outfit and locked them up in his designated cubicle before he grabbed his bag, hoisting it into the crook of his elbow. Harry muttered fruitless formal ' _hellos_ ' and ' _see you laters'_ ' to other club employees backstage and in the dressing rooms before pushing his way out the back door of the establishment.

He shuddered bodily as the winter wind travelled up the back of his shirt, coiling around his spine. He rubbed his palms together as he vainly attempted to adjust to the temperature, his curious eyes falling on a group of gangbangers just across the block. The bass blared from the speakers of the Mercedes-Benz, several men of variant umbers laughing and teasing one another, sharing a joint. They had a girl with them, a young, thin waisted, broad breasted girl with blonde hair and blue eyes that fluttering weakly as she blew out her last drag. She sat in a white fur coat on the hood of the car, legs crossed beneath a tight black skirt, smoking a cigarette and idly rapping her acrylics on the windshield. Harry caught eyes with one of the men and turned around quickly, heading in the opposite direction instead. This was the rough side of the city, where the gone and forgotten lurked in the innocent shadows like monsters beneath the bed of a child. He wasn't sure if they were cool with Liam or not— didn't want to assume and be caught in the crossfire of an ongoing territorial conflict.

He found himself meandering about the parking lot of the club, waiting patiently as cars moved in and out. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, shivering miserably. After twenty minutes he was almost seriously considering going back to the group of men he'd seen earlier— begging for mercy. He glanced around the parking lot for anyone who might be alone, anyone desperate for some kind of sexual engagement; at this point, he honestly wouldn't have minded sucking a cock if it meant being in a warm, heated vehicle.

He paced back and forth along the rows of parked cars, peering into windows, his knees knocking against one another as his bones trembled restlessly. It felt like another ten minutes (Harry didn't have a watch, he really didn't know) before he heard a familiar voice approaching from behind.

" _Harry_?"

Louis— the man from earlier looked back and forth across the street before jogging across, looking much more disheveled than Harry last recalled. He had his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, exposing more of his comely collarbones, tie loose around his neck, and coat slung over his left shoulder as he quickly advanced upon the boy.

Harry forced a smile onto his face, pushing his hands down the front of his shirt. He had two different reputations: one as a respectable stripper, working a regularly shift at a fine adult establishment in the heart of the city, and the other, a first class citizen of the red light district. He tried his best not to feel guilty about his unconventional circumstances, tried to remind himself that his life wasn't something to be ashamed of, but he couldn't help the warmth that spread across his features as the shorter man neared.   
  
"What are you doing out here?" Louis questioned, slipping a casual hand into his pocket.

"I, um... I was waiting for my ride, actually," The boy easily lied, awkwardly curling his knuckles together and cracking them each as he gauged Louis's response.

"Oh?" The man hummed, his eyebrows raising in edification. Louis was silent for a moment after that, clearing his throat. The sound of beeping horns and revving engines filled the night air. Harry scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortably nibbling his lower lip.

"Aren't you cold?" Louis wondered, offering the boy his jacket. Harry rubbed his arms, but dropped them after registering Louis's concern, shaking his head.

"I'm okay," he dismissed with a quirk of his chin. He'd been strutting down the winter streets in barely more than heels and a skirt for two years selling his body. To be virtually honest, it never mattered if he was cold or not. Liam never asked him if he was good, fine and comfortable before suggesting he go out and make him some money.

"I don't like to see you out here in the cold, Love, even if you are waiting for someone. I mean, or _I_ could give you a ride... if you wanted?" Louis stammered shyly. Harry watched the man oddly, his mind wrapping around Louis's intentions. He seemed genuine enough, his eyes iridescent and hopeful, small fingers furling sweetly as he anticipated Harry's rebuttal.

"Ah no! I couldn't...I don't want to put you out of your way, or—" Harry smiled, swatting his hand in the air. Boys were always so nice to Harry, even when he was manipulating them.

"No, really, it's no trouble at all. I was just about to head home anyway," Louis explained, reaching around to tuck his arms into the sleeves of his coat. He shuffled his keys in his right pocket, pulling them into his palm.

"Oh you were heading home?" Harry asked, stepping a little closer, pushing his purse up over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I've got work tomorrow, so I didn't want to be out too late. The boys insisted I come to loosen up, but I don't feel very loose," Louis huffed, rolling his shoulders. Harry chuckled softly, watching the toe of his black boot scuff the gravel beneath them. 

"Well, we can always change that," Harry murmured suggestively, peering up slowly. Realization dawned over Louis's face and he broke out into an infectious smile, his eyes crinkling, teeth baring.

"So you're a comedian, too?" Louis tutted, carding a hand through his messy fringe. Harry scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping his throat.

"Unfortunately, no. But it's what I've always aspired to be," he shrugged, leaning his shoulder against the lamppost at the entryway of the parking lot.

"No way?" Louis grinned, curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt.

"Nah," Harry huffed, glancing in the other direction. "But hey, is that a mirror in your back pocket?"

Louis's brows furrowed in confusion for less than a second, quick hands reaching around to feel the back of his trousers.

"'Cause I can see myself in your pants," Harry concluded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Louis breathed out in shallow amusement, his breath fogging in the chilly atmosphere.

"Okay, that was a solid attempt," Louis snickered softly, resting a delicate hand on the flat of his stomach, "I like you, so I'll give it a generous three out of ten,"   
Harry couldn't abate the sensation of pride in response to the sentiment. Not many people openly expressed any sort of pleasure with his personality, and certainly in not his jokes.

"I like you too," Harry said to Louis, his voice slipping along the seam of something else. He curled his hand around the cold metal pole, his eyes gradually roaming down Louis's body.

The man inhaled reverently, a febrile glint in his eye indicating his imminent interest in the boy. Which made things less difficult altogether— because maybe if Harry found a way to play on his evident intrigue, devise some elaborate ploy to machinate Louis's desires to his advantage, perhaps Harry wouldn't have to hustle quite as much as he'd earlier foreboded.  

"In fact...," Harry cleared his throat, running the tips of his fingers along the gold chain ornamenting his pale neck. Louis's eyes followed his sultry movements with bated breath, appreciating his adroit art of seduction.  
"I didn't get a chance to ask you earlier... since there were so many people around,"

Louis listened as Harry extended his arm, smoothing his palm down Louis's bicep through the thick material of his coat.

"I was wondering ... if maybe you'd want to take me somewhere? I mean, I don't really have any plans for tonight and I didn't want to just assume you didn't either,"

Louis blinked nervously, nodding quickly to illustrate his understanding.

"And I don't really want to spend the night alone, if you catch my drift?" Harry finished, curling his lips pensively. He didn't want to come across as promiscuous by offering himself so blatantly, but the night was aging rapidly and Harry didn't want to get caught in an impossible situation, insolvent and unable to find the funds to pay his what Liam coined as  'rent in the house'.

"Take you somewhere... like where...?" Louis stepped closer, the corners of his mouth pushing up slowly. Harry's hand moved carefully down his forearm, catching on the sleeve of his coat. Louis folded his fingers around the boy's dainty wrist, sliding the pad of his thumb across his knuckles and bringing their hands together for the first time.

"Like... _your place_ ," Harry smirked coyly, resting his temple against the lamppost. He glanced down between them, his heart swelling gently at the way his big, pale hand looked cradled in Louis's. It was almost unnatural to look at, too see his bones laying tenuously in the man's possession, Louis's tattooed fingers moving to slot in the spaces beside his own.

And even though they had only just met, at some point, Harry almost _wanted_ Louis to catch on to the fact that he was a hooker, to the fact that he was being played. The boy was torn between his instinct to survival and the mild moral implications of deceiving such a genuine guy. Harry liked to think he was good at his job, so he wasn't surprised that Louis was fooled.

And it was rare, but at times like these, Harry felt a pit of guilt form in his gut for his methods of existence. He somewhat appreciated the world when he met men like Louis, when he experienced their heartwarming features, exuberant personality quirks, the benevolent soul lying just behind the eyes. Because Harry was too good to be true. And like most men, Louis was ineffably blinded, lost in a flood of promising arousal.

"So _you_ want to come to _my_ place?" Louis teased as he moved even closer.  
Due to height, Harry slightly looked down upon the man, but at the same time, felt at his mercy. Louis had this aura that radiated some sort of austerity; he had to be older than Harry.

" _Yes_ ," the boy exasperatedly avowed, peering up, tucking a piece of his long hair behind his pierced ear.

"So does your supposed 'ride' actually exist?" Louis asked prudently as he pulled Harry toward him by his arm, starting them both in the direction of his car.

Harry scoffed, "What ride?"

"Figured," Louis balked, tossing his head at the boy's frivolous falsehood. 

~ ❁ ~


	6. f i v e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole fic is currently undergoing some **major editing** so please bear with me. my suggestion to you if you are a new reader is to: **STOP RIGHT HERE AND BOOKMARK THIS FIC BECAUSE AFTER THIS POINT THE STORY GETS HELLA MESSY OKAY THANK YOU**   
>  LOVE YOU SEE YOU SOON *** _heartttssss_ <3<3<3<3

~ ❁ ~

"God, Lou-" Harry whimpered as Louis pushed him up against the wall in his apartment. They had barely walked in through the front door.

"You're so fucking _sexy_ , Harry," Louis growled at him between kisses, easily parting Harry's lips with his tantalizing tongue. Harry groaned wetly as Louis's fingers groped his erection through his tight skinny jeans, feeling out the shape of his cock.

"Oh, fucking - _fuck_ me," Harry begged, baring his neck for Louis to attach his lips there instead. Louis complied without hesitation, sucking deep red bruises along the soft column of his throat, working his teeth up to the sensitive skin behind his ear whilst the younger boy whimpered impatiently.

The contact high was more than enough to look forward to. Harry rarely ever had sex for pleasure, but tonight he might have to allow himself the satisfaction of bedding this beautiful man, indulging in his firm hands, the scruff of his jaw, for Christ's sake his _lips_ —

"Yeah? Is that what you need?" Louis muttered hotly, nipping at the underside of Harry's jaw. Harry's eyelashes fluttered where he stood with his back to the wall, staring up at the ceiling while Louis teased the shit out of him.

" _God_ —yeah. I need it, need your cock," Harry pleaded breathlessly, curling his fingers around the back of Louis's collar, gripping the nape of his neck and unapologetically tugging their bodies closer together.

They made out against the wall not much longer after that. When Harry pushed their lips together in another desperate kiss - frantically tangling their tongues - it was hot and messy and wet and more than enough to have this _Louis_ crumbling with the desire to fuck him raw. Harry had been reading Louis all night. Now was his chance to put his knowledge to the test. It didn't take much for Harry to know that Louis was a kinky motherfucker - divulging his predilection for power play and dirty talk. Harry was here moments away from experiencing it hands on. He was definitely going to use it as leverage.

It must have taken all of Louis's willpower to pull away from the wet warmth of Harry's soft lips. Harry slowly blinked back to cognizance, making eye contact with the man for a brevity before Louis was mumbling against his ear that he wanted him so badly— _needed him_ on the bed _now_ — and who was Harry to deny him? Louis giddily tugged Harry through his apartment, down the hall and into his bed, pushing him down and crawling over his body.

Louis stripped Harry of his clothing, peeled his jeans down and kissed up his quivering torso. He took no time to shed himself of outer garments, tossing them one by one into the same pile beside the bed without so much as a glance in their direction. This beautiful stripper was laying in his sheets, his muscles clenching in anxious anticipation. Harry could only imagine the adrenaline pulsating through Louis's veins right now. It probably made him feel high, like he was floating on an irreplaceable feeling. Harry swallowed the thought as Louis yanked his shirt over his head, shook his now ruffled chestnut fringe out to fan across his forehead.

Louis was gentle in removing Harry's black briefs, took his firm dick in his hand, gave it a soft tantalizing squeeze. Louis held his gaze as he licked a wet stripe up his palm and smirked as he gripped him once more. Harry sat up on his elbows in surprise at the move. He felt heat settle in his lower belly as Louis started to touch him properly, wet fist moving up and down, thumb dipping into the sensitive head to smear his precome.

" _Shit_ , _Lou_ _is_..." he groaned, huffing when Louis removed his hand and crawled up the bed, now just in his briefs. The older man had an outline of dark purple on his lips and Harry remembered that he had been wearing lipstick. He was going to look very trashy by the end of this.

Louis dominantly pinned Harry's wrists into the bed and swiftly took control, climbing on top of him.

"Gonna fuck you so _hard_ ," Louis whispered, one hand on the side of his neck as he kissed and murmured into the other side. Harry breathed hard, a needy whine outflowing him. He was more than ready.

Louis reached above him to retrieve a bottle of lube from his nightstand. Harry watched as Louis took a condom as well before returning to the bed. The man left both items on the sheet whilst he pushed their mouths together; the wet squelching of tongues and the separation of lips reverberating against the walls of the room.

After a moment Louis pulled away and traveled down his body, leaving a trail of soft kisses against Harry's overheated skin. Louis settled comfortably between Harry's legs, glancing up to catch the look in his eyes before smoothing his hands down the underside of his thighs.

Harry watched eagerly, gnawed his lower lip in anticipation as Louis ran a fingertip down his cleft, catching on his rim. Louis circled it with slow, careful movements, his eyes moving up Harry's body, catching his gaze. The younger boy smirked as Louis's Adam's apple dipped, slowly resurfacing as he gathered his thoughts.

Louis teased him for a few moments, pressed his hot mouth to the jut of Harry's hip while rubbing the pad of his thumb against Harry's entrance. It was already too much for Harry not to feel pleasure. Harry was sensitive, his skin hyper aware to the tenderness of Louis's touch - slightly rough, but cool and with sure motions. The boy let his eyes fall closed and simply reveled in the feeling-

After a moment, Louis removed his hand to grab the lube from the drawer in the nightstand. Harry parted his eyes as Louis administered a dollop onto his index finger, spreading it onto his middle, then reach back down between Harry's thighs and beyond his sight. However, he felt it when Louis slipped that first finger into him.

He shuddered as the fingers pressed in deeply, twisting his wrists against the sheets. Louis gradually worked him up to two fingers, stroking his the soft pads against Harry's walls, crooking them upward to try and acquaint himself with that small bump. Harry was so hard, peering down his torso to observe the way his cock bobbed against his hip with each stroke, precome smearing against his belly. But Louis ignored it and focused on his task.

Louis took his time riling Harry up. Harry rolled his hips impatiently, his fists tangling in the sheets, a sob breaking from his trembling lips as Louis found his spot and rubbed ruthless circles into it with his middle finger. He seemed get off on Harry's frustration - glancing anxiously between his face and his occupation like he just couldn't wait to get inside of him. Harry was winning, he already knew.

Louis spread the boy's thighs open even further could fit closer in between and no doubt inflict even more torture on the boy. Harry's toes curled when Louis curled his other hand around the base of his dick. He gripped Harry firmly, pumped his fist up, dipped his thumb into Harry's wet tip, gathering some of his precome to smoothen the glide back down. Louis twisted his wrist on the way back up, gave a couple of fast strokes before alternating with a slow one- which had Harry keening for real. Sweat prickled along his forehead, his heart beat palpating against his ribs at his quickly encroaching orgasm as the older man showed no signs of deterrence.

And Harry choked on a breath, whining lowly in the back of his throat as Louis brought his off that way, with steady strokes, gentle hands and a dirty mouth. Both of his moved in tandem, fingers plunging deeper into him, coaxing his orgasm gently, sweetly as his wrist flicked faster over the crown of his cock, the wet pink tip disappearing and reappearing quickly through the clutch of his fist. Harry moaned gutturally with every sting of euphoric pleasure that tore through his bones. Fuck, he wasn't going to _last_ -

But Louis wasn't even close to being done with him.

Louis gave Harry a coy smirk from where he nestled between his thighs. Harry just stared at him, lips agape, lipstick smeared across his upper lip. He struggled to keep his eyelids open as all sorts of confounding pleasures overwhelmed his senses.

Louis then moved his hand from Harry's dick and went down lower on the bed. He soothed his palms over Harry's flat tummy, down his sides then back up. He moved even lower to pay some attention to Harry's hairless thighs, running his hands over them to savor the smooth, silken feel. He watched, touched and kissed - all like he just couldn't get enough of what was right in front of him. Louis stared at Harry's body as if he were an angel, as if some unreality had graced him with a gift from God. At the thought, Harry nearly broke the heated scene to laugh. Harry was too good to be true. At least Louis was right about that part.

Louis sucked a bruise into Harry's inner thigh, peering up at the boy's ruddy face from between his legs. His warm, steady thumb put gentle pressure just behind Harry's knees to keep them spread open. After a moment of laving Harry's skin in fresh reminders, Louis moved in even closer, burying his face in the warmness of Harry's thighs. Harry's felt his hot mouth teasing him along his tailbone, breath humid against his taint. He stared at the arousing static patterns on the ceiling in awe of this night- what was contemporary was far too much for Harry to fathom as existence.

He gasped in shock when Louis put his tongue at his rim, ran just the tip from his tailbone to his perineum. Harry groaned as Louis started swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin, wetting him before pressure was applied and he was worming his tongue in the tight orifice. Harry clenched his eyes shut as Louis slid his fingers back in alongside his tongue. The presumably older man hummed in delight, as if this were his favorite pastime. And hell, maybe it was. Harry most certainly wasn't complaining.

Harry had only been rimmed once before in his life. Liam had been feeling gracious, that night. So it was no surprise that Harry screamed as Louis began fucking him with his tongue - pressing in further and further until his lips made contact with his blushing skin. Louis flicked his fingers in and out quickly, and Harry pulled at the bedspread when he felt Louis's saliva trickling down his tailbone.

" _Holy_ shit," Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to come. He could feel it. The sparks were tingling up his spine with every drag of Louis's tongue. It wasn't something he felt he could stave off any longer - he was so fucking close and it began to ache deep in his pelvis.

Harry felt Louis's hot tongue working him open, the warm wetness spreading between his thighs as it got messy. Louis was thorough, used his thumbs to spread Harry's cheeks and work his way deeper. The gentle pressure added to the way Louis's fingers were expanding his walls made him so overwhelmed with pleasure. He loved feeling tight again, like maybe he couldn't handle it.

"... yeah, yeah... go ahead. Wanna see how pretty you look when you come," Louis mumbled as he held Harry open with his hand, three fingers gouged deep as he darted his tongue around the boy's hole.

Harry pulled his long hair, thrashed against the mattress as the man's thick fingers fucked his prostate.

Louis thrusted his fingers in and out faster and faster until finally, _finally-_ Harry felt his body seize up. Static burned behind his eyelids and ice spiraled down his spine. His eyes twitched shut and his lips fell open as he felt the slow pulse of his orgasm tear through him then; the warm come spurting from his tip and drizzling across his abdomen.

Louis was rock hard and eager. Harry laid there for a long moment, rubbing his hands up his own torso. He caught his breath for a long minute or two as Louis removed his fingers and moved back up the bed. Harry dipped two of his fingertips in his come and fed himself; held Louis's gaze as he sucked his fingers clean. Louis groaned audibly at that visual.

"Mmm," Harry licked his lips, his chest expanding up and down as he lapped the come from his hand.

"'Still want me to fuck you?" Louis crawled up the bed, his massive cock a painful red, knocking into his hip as he repositioned himself. Harry bit his lip at the way it moved between his strong thighs as he moved closer.

Harry nodded as he started to move. After cleaning himself up, he placed both hands flat on the bed and heaved his debauched body around so he was in doggy style position.

Louis ran his hands up Harry's back, squeezed his shoulder blades and kissed the nape of his neck. Harry's lashes fluttered shut with the intimate touch. He wasn't used to such tenderness. It was a firm grip the man had, but not firm enough to bruise him. It was heavy and perfectly weighted; like a strong, stable force.

"Ready, for me?" Louis asked, his hands squeezing into Harry's soft hips.

Harry gulped. He could feel Louis behind him, moving his hand to grasp the underside of his girth and push the head against Harry's entrance. He was big.

"Yeah," Harry rasped, a heavy exhale leaving him.

With that, Louis's fingers tightened on Harry's skin as he pushed his cock into the boy.

"Just like that." Louis mumbled to him. Harry's cheeks were on fire. His hands tightened in the sheets of the bed as Louis slid into him, inch by inch. The hot pulsating pressure that shot through Harry's body made his head feel fuzzy.

Harry moaned when the man's hips finally nestled against his ass. Louis had such a big dick. He felt like he was being split open. His thighs strained as he could hardly hold himself up.

"Yeah?" Louis asked, running his hands over Harry's sides.

"'Feels good," he panted, like a dog in heat. Harry couldn't help it. He was so full. He had never had a man this huge inside of him. Not even Liam.

He cried out, when Louis pulled out, then slammed back in and did so again and again and again.

"Uh, uh-uh," Harry took it and he took it like a bitch. He dropped his head between his shoulders as his body rocked forward and back.

"Yeah, yeah-fuck, _take_ it," Louis fucked him hard and he fucked him fast.

Harry couldn't bear it when Louis started thrusting against his spot. He whimpered at the hyper stimulation, his whole body collapsing in to the bed.

Louis took this to his advantage. He gathered up Harry's wrists and held them behind his back as he pounded into him. Harry could feel his body trembling with pleasure. He loved how Louis manhandled him in such a gentle way. He felt so good; better than he'd ever felt in his life.

His ass was up in the air and his face was crushed into the mattress. He just whined in one long, low continuation as Louis hit up into him repeatedly. His hips slapped against Harry's cheeks, the constant amorous sound pounding against Harry skull as he was brought back to arousal.

Over and over the bed rocked and creaked; wooden headboard slamming against dry wall, a horrible result of _bang bang bang_ to accompany the _slap slap slap_ of Louis's skin colliding with his. Harry was a whore for a reason. He couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of it all at once - the heat that once again coiled itself in the pit of his gut. He keened as he felt himself return to full hardness, his erection pressed flat between his belly and the mattress.

"Louis," Harry whimpered, his voice muffled by the sheets of the bed. He hated how weak he sounded. But who was he kidding - Louis was the best fuck he'd ever had.

"'Say my name, baby- _say it_ ," Louis urged him.

"Lou - _oh_ , Louis," Harry wailed, drool sliding from his gaping lips with his cheek mashed into the sheets.

"Say it louder. Scream it," Louis commanded, his soft but firm voice sending jolts through Harry's fragile body. His back arched as he turned his head to the side, his long hair tangled and falling into his face

"Fuck- _Louis_!" Harry's voice cracked when he screamed as he came across his belly, his body shaken with violent tremors. Louis fucked him through his orgasm, slowly rocking his hips until he came to a stop.

Harry had never come twice in a night before. He really liked it. He was so blown, though. His eyes were closed and his hair was a mess and his makeup was smeared across his face.

Louis pulled out and removed his condom. Harry hadn't even noticed he put it on to begin with. He was so out of it.

Harry couldn't do anything but lay there against the bed, trembling. His muscles quivered as he came down from his high and reestablished respiration. His limbs were loose and his skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat.

He felt Louis touching his body, kissing his back, his shoulders, wiping his skin with a washcloth, stroking his hair back into a orderly way.

When Harry came to, he was laying there on the side of the bed, his head on a cool pillow. Louis was in boxers, at the foot of the bed, gathering Harry's clothes and Harry's bag. He put them there on end of the bed together and looked up to catch Harry's gaze.

"Hey," Louis said moving forward, sitting on the bed beside him. Harry sat up quickly and frowned. He scratched his head, caught a glimpse of the purple smudge of his lips against Louis's white bedclothes.

"What time is it?" Harry murmured.

"... around three." Louis said, his voice concerned. "I didn't know whether you were staying the night or-"

"Shit. Do you have a phone?" Harry asked the man, rubbing his eyes and looking at the black smudge his hand collected.

"Um. Yeah," Louis stood and grabbed his cell from the night table.  
"Here,"

Harry didn't even acknowledge the guy he just slept with. He snatched the device out of his hand and dialed the number quickly.

If Harry had scruples, he would have felt really guilty for what he was about to commit. He didn't know at what point in his life he began to feel nothing.

"Yeah?" The voice answered.

"I need your help, Daddy." Harry made his voice sound small and weak. He feigned to cry, sniffling into the speaker.

"What's wrong, Princess?" Liam's hard voice came belting back.

"He- he..." Harry stammered, staring at the floor. Louis sat beside him, a frown on his face. He was confused.

"What's happened baby?"

"He... I let him fuck me and he won't pay," Harry closed his eyes and whimpered. Once the words tumbled out there was no use in trying to take them back. It was done.

"What the- _Harry_?" Louis nudged his arm. He was probably shocked and confused. He was probably astounded. But Harry ignored him.

"Where are you?" Liam asked.

"In the city. At this apartment complex near the club. I'll be outside and I'll show you who he is," Harry swallowed. Louis was such a picture of distress. Well, he was right to be. Harry's pimp was about to come and beat him up for two hundred dollars he didn't know he was liable to pay.

Harry stood up, pulled on his clothes and his boots. He put his purse over his shoulder and started to leave.

"Harry, wait- _what_? Who was that?" Louis stuttered, his pupils wide with confusion as he followed Harry out of his bedroom.

"My pimp," Harry answered shortly, quickly pulling a tie from his wrist and gathering his hair up into a bun. He traced each step toward the front door of Louis apartment, chewing the inside of his cheek pensively.

"But... I—I thought," Louis shuddered slightly, his whole body ailed with some mixture of regret, sadness, frustration and disappointment. The combination was sickening to even imagine.

"Unfortunately, you thought wrong," Harry folded his arms over his chest.

"How much do I owe you, then..." Louis sighed as Harry opened the door and dipped into the artfully decorated hallway. He glanced toward the door to the stairwell, an odd feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Two hundred dollars," Harry informed him, thinking little of it.

Louis nodded dryly and returned into his apartment. Harry was surprised. Most of the time guys scoffed at the idea of paying that much for him. Harry expected Louis to at least put up a fight, especially when Harry pulled such a crazy, unjustifiable stunt. He was lucky Louis didn't kick him out, tell him to scram or else he'd call the cops. The very abstraction of Louis's compliance was foreign and illogical to Harry, but he tried not to think about it all too much. At least he wasn't putting up a fight. Maybe Liam wouldn't be needed after all.

Louis returned with his wallet and fished out a hundred dollar bill. He handed it to Harry with a sad look devouring his ornate features. Harry swallowed, snatched the money and slipped it into his purse. A beat passed. Louis blinked. The younger man tapped his foot, waiting for the rest.

"That's all I have on me," Louis shrugged honestly, running an anxious hand through his now lank locks.

"Listen, I don't fuck for cheap. I don't care how you get that money but I need it. Tonight," Harry explained, a frenzied look swimming in his irises. He was stressing out as well. He had gotten too carried away with this gorgeous man, letting his lave his body in unwavering erotica— and now he was stuck right back in the place he was before the night began.

"Harry, I don't carry that kind of money around with me. I would pay you if I had it. Please, understand that,"

Harry frowned, his lips pursing distrustfully. "Fine, then," he shrugged, as he turned on his heel and walked toward the stairwell. He took note of which floor he was on.

He would have to let Liam deal with it.

~ ❁ ~

He was full blown bawling by the time Liam found him. He pulled up in his Jag, illegally parked on the red painted curb, and hopped out of the car.

"Where is he, huh?" Liam looked hungry for blood. Harry didn't really want Louis to get hurt. Louis was great. But sacrifices had to be made.

"Follow me,"

Harry lead Liam up the stairwell until they reached the floor. Harry stood behind Liam with his hands clasped together as the older man knocked on the apartment door.

Louis opened the door and frowned.  
"May I help you?"

"Give me my fucking money," Liam said calmly, outstretching his hand.

"I told Harry. I don't have that kind of cash on me," Louis answered, attempting to reason with the man.

"You're lying." Liam gripped his sleep shirt by the collar and manipulated his smaller frame.

"I'm not! Let go of me," Louis ordered.

"You're gonna fuck my bitch and pretend you didn't?" Liam's booming voice accused him, anger lacing every word.

"I didn't say that. We did... I did. I didn't know, okay!" Louis sounded terrified. He masked it by raising his tone.

Harry just cried. This was so wrong.   
He hated it. He couldn't explain why he felt sorry. Harry never felt remorse no matter how bad it was. He was unscrupulous and he didn't feel for anyone.

"We're gonna take a trip to the ATM machine," Liam dragged Louis out of the room by his shirt and shoved him.

Louis eyed daggers at Harry as the three of them walked down the hall. Liam led him down the stairs and back outside and around the corner.

Harry stood under Liam's arm, sniffling against his chest every now and then as Liam rubbed his back.

Louis was just in boxers and a shirt as he typed in his pass code. He shivered, his bare feet against the concrete sidewalk.

He withdrew two hundred dollars and although Harry already had one, nobody uttered a word.

Regardless of what happened, Louis gave Harry a sympathetic look.

"Have a good night, now," Louis addressed the two of them as he walked back into his apartment building. There wasn't a single trace of sarcasm in that comment.

Liam stroked Harry's shoulders until the man was out of sight.

"Come on, you," Liam sighed, tenderly.

Harry smiled as he climbed into Liam's car. He placed his purse in his lap and shut the door behind him.

~ ❁ ~


	7. s i x

~ ❁ ~

There was no such thing as privacy or personal boundaries in the house. They were all close, sure, but sometimes Harry genuinely wanted to keep some things to himself.

He would go into  _his_  room and find Joe and Lauren having sex in  _his_  bed. He would find  _his_  blouses and  _his_  skirts on the floor in the hall or on someone else's body. He would catch Liza using  _his_  razors to shave her hairy pits. There was no way he was going to put that on his face after that. It was just inconsiderate.

Harry walked into his room to find Sandra and Liza on the floor with scissors, cutting up one of his outfits.

"Um... excuse me?!" Harry exploded with rage. They were young,  _yeah_ -but,  _why?_  If they had to cut up clothes, they could do it to their own things.

"Oh. Should we have asked first?" Liza whispered to Sandra with an ' _oh shit_ ' look on her face.

"Yes, you should have. That was my favorite dress, Sandra what the hell?!" He seethed with anger, his face red as he yelled at them. He hardly ever yelled but he couldn't help it. This was totally unnecessary.

"Sorry. We're sorry. We'll make it up to you, Harry we promise," Liza said, her eyes deep and apologetic.

"Whatever," Harry left the room, walking into the kitchen where Niall sat at the table, scrolling through texts on his phone.

"Hey," Harry said to the man as he sat down. When Niall didn't get up instantly, he considered himself a winner.

Niall didn't reply. He just looked up, ran a hand through his brunette hair.

"How are you?" Harry asked. He didn't expect an answer. He knew he wasn't going to get one. He just wanted to see what would happen; how far he could get before Niall hit him.

The man just slouched in his chair, his phone looking like the most impressive piece of nothing.

"Why don't you like me?" Harry asked bluntly. It was a valid question. Harry had never done anything to Niall before. At least he didn't think so.

"Never said that,"

_Oh_.

So he speaks.

Harry smiled. He brought out the best in everyone. He had never heard Niall's voice before. He was always so quiet.

"You don't talk to me. Or even give me eye contact. Did I do something?" Harry asked, shyly.

Niall sighed and shifted in his seat. A moment of silence passed before he murmured a response.

"I don't know what to say," Niall absently replied.

"You could say ' _hi_ '. Sometime," Harry suggested. He was trying. He was a boy in a world of dresses and makeup and handbags. He could adjust but he truly missed just kicking back and watching the game on Sunday. Just because he was good at his job didn't mean he was any less of a boy than Niall or Liam. Just because he was gay didn't mean he was any less of a man.

"Okay," Niall grumbled.

Harry could tell the conversation was over. He stood up and began walking away when he heard something awful.

Joe was reading something. She was a terrible reader; she never finished middle school.

Harry knew it sounded familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it-

_his letter._

"I...love you so much Momma. P-please, write back if you get this. Love, Harry.  _Ex Oh Ex Oh Ex_ ," Joe chuckled to Ira and Miranda sat there on the couch silently.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry asked, running over and trying to snatch the envelope and paper from the girl. He failed miserably and stood there as she made kissy noises and faces at him. He fumed.

"I guess you are a girl, Harry," Joe cooed, touching his face. "Such a pretty little faggot, aren't you?" He smacked her hand away, his cheeks red with hatred.

"Shut up dyke!" He yelled and overpowered her. He took both of her arms in one hand and forced the letter from her clasped fingers. So what if he was a faggot? He had the attitude of a queen but the body of a man and he could manhandle her just the same.

"I'm fucking sick of you! This is my letter. You're pathetic, Joe. Why don't you stop pretending to be on your period and get on the fucking street like the rest of us! You tryna act all big and bad when you don't got shit. Leave me the fuck alone! I haven't done anything wrong and for you to violate my privacy is just fucked up, man." Harry told her off, using his hand to push her back for emphasis.

"It was under the couch cushions. How is that a violation of privacy?" The blonde asked, ignorantly.

"You tore open the envelope!" Harry felt like he was going to cry again. He hated crying because it made him feel weak but he was really angry and sad and hungry and tired and he didn't know how to express all that at once.

"Yeah 'cause you left it there! It's not my fault yo-"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS SCREAMING ABOUT!" Liam's voice boomed from the front door. Harry closed his mouth and recoiled immediately.

"See, Harry.  _I'm_  the one who acts 'big and bad'. You try to run this place until your Daddy shows up. Then you're nothing but a scared lil' bitch," Joe shoved his shoulder hard so he stumbled backwards.

" _Joanna_? You gonna explain what you started here?" The man asked as he neared the living room. He hadn't put his hood down when he walked inside.

"I didn't do shit!" She fought back.

"Watch your tone," Liam said to her, his teeth gritted.

Mariana and Ira sat on the couch with wide eyes, passive participants in the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Harry always acting like he about shit. He talks down to everybody else and he don't pull his weight," Joe said calmly.

Harry frowned in objection. He went to open his mouth, but Liam told him not to speak. He obeyed.

"Harry does pull his weight. He goes out each night, rain or shine and he makes me a lot of money," Liam protected Harry as always, his hand rubbing up and down the boy's back.

"Yeah well, he talks down to everyone. He won't share nothing with no one. He's a selfish brat." She slurred, pointing her venomous finger at Harry.

"Mhm," Liam nodded, arms folded as he listened to her frustrations.

"It's not our fault he's bitter about everything. He's fake around you," Joe told Liam, which, wasn't fair whatsoever. Everyone was fake around Liam. No one was happy that Liam took their money. No one was happy that Liam gave them curfew and made them wear little in order to bring in customers. No one wanted to admit they weren't happy; discontent. That was a given. Joe was in love with a girl Liam sold every couple nights to strange men. One of whom got her pregnant. How could she be happy about that?

"He's fake in general. He has a Momma and he was writing to her. But he didn't want anyone to know so he hid the letter. I found it and he got mad and started yelling and as soon as you walked in he got all quiet and sweet like so," she pointed to him.   
"He's a brat and you know why." Joe called Liam out. The man looked up, confused.

"You're always buying him shit and babying him and fucking him and it's stupid. He's playing you!" Joe yelled at Liam.

In an instant, the air of the whole house shifted.

Harry blinked quickly, cowered as Liam raised his hand and smacked Joe across the face, effectively knocking her several steps back.

"I'm sick of you acting like you have a say and shit. Joe, I've had nothing but trouble from you since Lauren got knocked up. Life happens, aight? Step back in line or else there  _will_  be consequences. Harry has the right to his privacy as do you. I try to be reasonable with you all but clearly that doesn't work. You'd do best to learn to mind your own business, before you say the wrong thing to the wrong person and end up getting popped," Liam spoke. He was serious. Harry could tell. He was using that voice that rumbled and shook the whole house.

Harry caught a quick glimpse of Joe holding her cheek with a bitter sparkle in her eyes. Harry didn't want to bear witness to her crying in front of everyone. And he didn't.

Harry just followed a long like a dog when Liam grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward his bedroom.

Harry sucked Liam off that afternoon, took the tension from the man's muscles and relaxed his heavy bones.

~ ❁ ~

"Harry?"

Harry turned around from where he stood in the kitchen eating a chicken sandwich out of a fast food wrapper.

"Yeah,"

Mari stood in the doorway, her backpack over her shoulders. "Could you help me with something later?

The boy frowned. Mariana was probably the most mature out of all of them. She was quiet and reserved. She took care of her business and didn't cause trouble.

"What is it?" He asked after swallowing a large piece of white bread and iceberg lettuce.

"I'm going to the club to practice. Liam got me some more shifts and I need to work on the routine for the first show on Wednesday." Mariana was a great dancer. Harry had seen her move once or twice. She had a nice slender body, long dark hair and a perfect tan. Harry was positive she made lots of cash.

Harry had taken up more shifts himself. It wasn't Liam's idea. He had gone to the manager one afternoon and begged for work. The man had agreed to let Harry have Fridays as well as Sunday evenings. Harry felt that was probably something he'd be better at anyway. There was a strip show every Sunday and there was always a full house. It was easy and fun. Also, Harry got a ton of money from it so he didn't have to hustle.

"Sure yeah. We can practice together," Harry said as he took another bite of his sandwich.

"I wish I was old enough to work in a club," Liza murmured as she stuffed greasy fries into her mouth. She was only eighteen and she had been putting on weight recently. Harry wasn't so sure she could get the job with the habits she had anyway. In order to be a dancer you had to be in shape. You couldn't eat like a pig and you had to stay aware of your body at all times. Harry didn't eat much, but when he did, it was all healthy stuff. He only got salads and sandwiches. He didn't eat french fries or consume sugar or drink soda. Water and fruit was enough to keep him satiated.

"There's no better way to make fast cash without having to sell your ass," Mariana told the younger girl.

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes at the two of them. Maybe it was different at straight clubs. Harry just couldn't put his finger on it, but there was this constant ravenous craving for sex at the gay club. They were like animals. Harry had only done one strip show so far. The crowd had taken a liking to him since he figured out the secret to sexiness near the beginning of the month. He had fun with it. He maximized the time he spent on stage, high off the rush, and enjoyed every moment he was earning money without having to sell himself.

But it was scary sometimes. The hoards of men who somehow felt entitled to him after a good performance were suffocating. He collected his money from the stage and flittered backstage with his clothes in his arms. He would be expected to dress in something equally skimpy before going out into the crowd to fraternize with the club. It's not like he wasn't used to having men touch him. He was accustomed to the rough cold touch of horny strangers; all thinking about his body in their beds. It got a little lecherous, sometimes. Harry tried not to think about it, but for some reason he found himself worrying more and more about the way he exposed himself. And that was strange.

~ ❁ ~


	8. s e v e n

~ ❁ ~

They had been at it for at least an hour. Mari practiced on the pole, the CD player in the corner blaring some awful techno music.

Harry sat on the floor and watched as she sweat through her routine. Harry was impressed. She fascinatingly twirled around the pole, held onto the metal surface as she dropped it down low and swiveled her hips all the way back up. Her body did more than just roll; it popped. She had this natural talent about her that reminded Harry of someone who would be a backup dancer for a major production of some sort. He could definitely imagine seeing Mari on television some day. She was so good at it. There were a couple of off beat moments and one jump that looked kind of awkward. Other than that, Harry wasn't seeing what she was so stressed out about.

"Shit," Mariana slurred as she stepped away from the pole in frustration.

"What? That was good," Harry insisted, his eyes wide.

"I messed up the end again," she groaned. He did the movements with her arms an hips, mentally practicing the sequence of things. She then went over to stop the music, right inch pumps hitting the wooden dance floor with every step.

"I noticed you got a little off beat. The second rise on... you know when you first come in...that was a little weird but-other than that I thought it was great," Harry told her. He sat with his legs cross crossed in front of him, palms flat on the floor behind him.

"Really? Okay. I know no one will notice-"

"Yeah, I was about to say that... try quickening your movements so you don't go off beat, though. That's something people could notice," Harry suggested with a shrug.

Mari replayed the song, before going back to the beginning. She walked over to the pole and placed her hands on her hips. She tried to follow Harry's instructions, came in too early the next time she moved. It wasn't quite what Harry was talking about. He meant that she should find the rhythm in her own body, so that when she started the motion, she would finish it on beat.

Harry made a noise in his throat and stood up. He went over and paused the track.

"Think about the beat." Harry said. He snapped his fingers in a constant steady pulse. That's what a beat was. It was reoccurring. It was stable. The beat wasn't ever going to change. She had to internalize the sound and mould her routine around that.

Mariana looked at him, with one hand on the pole and her other wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"Show me how you do that... when you drop down..." Harry waved his hand for gesture.

"Oh this." Mari placed her hands on the pole and slid down so that her ass nearly touched the floor.

"Now stay-" Harry said to her as he pressed play. He snapped his fingers to the beat. "Now come back up. Swivel your hips to the beat."

Mariana nodded, coming up in three smooth motions before standing straight.

"That part is good. Your clearly on beat there. You have to give yourself time between to make the next move. So..."

Harry paused the cd player again and stepped forward.

"So it's... one, two, three, four..." he counted off, before doing the same. She watched as he demonstrated. "One, two, three, four..." Harry showed her the movement of his hips corresponding to each beat he counted off.

"Oh... so I should just say that in my head. Okay." Mariana nodded in understanding.

"Go ahead," Harry played the music once more.

Mariana took his advice and caught on quickly. She sensually moved her body, and with her eyes closed, felt the rhythm of the music. Her lips moved as she counted the beats. Harry did the same as he watched her. That time, it just flowed. Harry nodded and appreciated the fine art of it. She looked gorgeous; sexy. She was sure to win the crowd on Wednesday.

"I just gotta count. Thanks, babe," Mari turned to Harry and smiled sparingly. Harry reciprocated, then walked over to where his bag sat on the floor.

"We should get new outfits to celebrate," Harry said as they left the building, the heavy door slamming shut behind them.

"You always say that," Mari chuckled, slinging one of the straps of her bag over her shoulder.

"Well since we're here," Harry never wanted to pass up an opportunity to shop especially when they got to be in the city so often now.

"It's late, Harry. And isn't Liam taking you next week anyway?" Mari turned to him. They stood at the bus stop, the only people waiting for the evening bus.

"That's true. But... I can't really get the things I want when he takes me," Harry sighed.

"What do you mean?" Mariana asked.

"You know... he just... he only buys me what he wants me to wear." Harry huffed. Liam wanted to see him in revealing things; short skirts and tight tops. Liam wanted to see Harry wear lingerie and make up and so he did. He took advantage of the fact that Harry was effeminate. Liam didn't like to see Harry lounging around the house during the day with boxers on in his free time. He wanted Harry to shave everywhere. Harry was probably the only one of the girls who did exactly what Liam asked without question or hesitation. Liam prized Harry for that and used him in every way he saw fit. Liam always got what he wanted. Harry made sure of that.

"He gets you nice things, though." Mariana pointed out. She didn't understand. Harry knew that. It was okay. No one did. Harry had tons of quality makeup, expensive shoes and clothes; even silk pajamas. Liam thought nothing of spoiling Harry, but it was on his terms. Harry was only allowed the luxuries Liam approved. He took care of the other girls of course, but when Liam got a deal on Gucci handbags out of the back of some obscure friend's trunk, Harry always got first pick. That's how things were. Harry saw no use for complaining.

"Yeah. He does." Harry hummed, as he stood there, scuffing his boots on the sidewalk concrete.

"I'm sorry about what happened the other day," Mari said, turning to him for a second before dropping her gaze.

"Oh." Harry breathed, remembering the letter he wrote to his mother. "That wasn't your fault."

"I know, but. I felt bad. Joe is just bitter. It's hard when she has you constantly reminding her of the double standards in the house,"

"That's not my fault," Harry scoffed, shaking his head.

"I know but... we shouldn't fight. Things are hard enough for us already," Regardless of Harry's feelings, Mariana had a point. He really didn't have the energy to bicker with Joe or any of the others. Winter was coming fast and business would be booming due to the holidays. They had to focus on work. Survival. Fighting each other was pointless and Harry didn't care enough to engage in conflict.

"I guess," he muttered.

The bus came a few moments later and they got on, sitting together and riding silently back to the other side of town.

~ ❁ ~

Harry swallowed hard, his fingers splayed out on Liam's abdomen as he rocked forward.

"There you go. Nice and slow, baby," Liam encouraged him.

Harry whimpered and dug his fingertips into Liam's tough skin as he sunk back down on the older man's thick length.

Harry didn't know how long they'd been at this. He was so close and his toes were curling every time he rubbed Liam's firm dick right over his spot. He was blushing from the neck down, his chest a flushed pink. He had sweat trickling down his temple. He was so hot all over. He trembled, his red lips gaping as he gasped and shook.

His hair was a mess about his head. It was so long and out of control it flopped into his face with every smooth roll of his hips.

"You look beautiful," Liam said to him. He was holding up surprisingly well for the way Harry was working him. Liam only had a slight tint in his cheeks. He wasn't sweating or panting. His semblance was impeccable.

Harry leaned back a little, eyelashes fluttering as he opened his eyes to look at Liam beneath his body.

"Daddy," Harry groaned, softly. He stared down at the man underneath him, his hands flat against the mattress as Harry did all the work, fucking himself down and moving everything in just the right way.

Harry got silent, his expression twisting up in pleasure of the drag of Liam's thick cock against his walls. It was a perfect size for Harry. He could really focus on where he wanted to feel it and when he ground his body down, sparks jolted up his spine. He felt the heat spiral in his belly and the icy cool of his orgasm approaching when-

"Don't come," Liam ordered, his tone harsh and stern. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and stopped moving his body immediately. He gripped Liam's waist for stability. He was so close that it hurt him. He needed some relief, but Liam didn't want him to finish yet so he obeyed.

All of Harry's senses felt blunted. He was halfway to subspace, his head lolling around his neck and his lips constantly wide and opened. He couldn't think. He could hardly speak. His glassy eyes blinked open slowly and he saw Liam sitting there, watching his every breath.

He was melting; the room was so hot. Harry's skin felt like it was on fire. He made these little whimpering noises in his throat as he held himself still. He was burning;  _almost_  there and if he just had one more push then he would orgasm. He wanted to come so  _baldy_.

"Oh, Daddy... please, I'm so close," he whined, his voice shaking with it. Harry was being good. He didn't understand why Liam was torturing him.

Liam gave him a disappointed look and shook his head. Harry frowned but he behaved.

Liam had taken Harry out that day. He had bought Harry some new clothes since he pouted about Liza and Sandra cutting up his things. Liam wanted to see how Harry looked in a sheer top, so he got a few see through black blouses to match the new stockings he got for Harry. He had torn holes in his last pair and needed replacements of course. Harry would be wearing those with his garter belt tomorrow night for the strip show. Harry had to look his best, of course.

Right now Harry was thanking Liam. He was showing his Daddy how grateful he was for all of his new things.

"Ohh," Harry moaned, as he tilted his head back. His red manicured fingertips looked lovely as he rubbed his nipples.

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the feeling that travelled through his body. His thighs burned a little, and his hips ached, but he held himself balanced. Liam was watching him, now, calloused hands squeezing and touching his thighs.

That was an indicator of Liam's arousal. When he was actively participating in sex it meant he was feeling good. Harry pinched and pulled of his nipples as he rode Liam. He tried not to get too carried away in the feeling of the sex. The room smelled like sweat and hot bodies; something Harry was used to. This was nothing.

Harry wasn't allowed to come, though, so had to be very, very careful.

He was grinding slowly again, hole clenching around the girth of Liam's dick that was plunged so deep inside of him. It made him feel so anxious. His skin pricked with goosebumps.

Harry was so,  _so_  close again when the phone rang. Liam didn't acknowledge him. He just reached over to his nightstand to get the device.

Harry licked his bottom lip and slowly rocked back. He kept going because Liam never told him he could stop. He watched as Liam answered the call, spoke to whomever it was, scratched his chest as if Harry weren't even there.

Harry squirmed and restlessly moved his body. He hated waiting for the things he wanted.

He gasped and fell forward a little when the angle moved just right and Liam slid over his prostate. His cock was so hard and bobbing against his tummy and he was feeling the sharp tinge of fire through the head as some more precome dribbled out. He whimpered.

"Wait- _what_?" Liam asked, sitting up sharply, harshly smacking Harry's thigh.

"Ow," he frowned, his glassy eyes blinking in confusion.

"Shit. Did he get arrested?" Liam asked concernedly.

Harry sat there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding as he watched Liam stress over something he didn't understand. He wanted to ask what had happened but he knew Liam wouldn't tell.

"Alright. I'm coming," he sighed, before hanging up and dropping the phone on the bed.

Harry stared at him.

"Get off," Liam said, shoving him.

"Oh.. okay," Harry fumbled as he rose off of Liam. He crawled onto the bed, as Liam got up. Harry gripped onto the sheets and pulled them over his naked body. He tried to cool down, fanning his face with his hand.

Liam pulled on his shirt and boxers, then his jeans. He zipped up his fly and grumbled to himself as he looked around his room for his jacket. He had piles of clothing everywhere and Harry wondered how he knew which were dirty and which were clean.

"I can do your laundry." Harry suggested as he combed one of his big hands through his hair.

"Whatever," Liam huffed as he stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. He draped his gold chain around his neck and pulled on his big coat. He stepped into his sneakers and pulled open the door before stomping out.

Harry sighed as he curled up under the covers of Liam's bed, cold and alone. 

That was how he liked it, after all.

~ ❁ ~


	9. e i g h t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: rape in this chapter. not graphic, but may be triggering.

~ ❁ ~

Harry leaned over the counter in the dressing room backstage, applying a dark hue of brown eyeshadow with his tiny brush. He put on mascara, then ran the soft tip of his eyeliner over the water line. He put some liquid liner on and it came out perfectly as always; it only took him one try these days. He waited until most of his outfit was on before he took his dark red lipstick out of his bag.

He got close to the mirror and placed the end of the stick to his bottom lip. He filled in his lips, rubbed them together, and pursed them. When he deemed himself beautiful enough, he put the cap on his lipstick and dropped it back into his bag. He zipped the leather purse. He then turned around and grabbed his dress from the chair. He slipped it on over his head and straightened it out over his body. It was a tight black dress; slim and sexy. It was short and only came to the top of his thighs.

When Harry looked in the mirror, he didn't feel sexy. He felt really awful tonight and he didn't know why. Sure, Harry looked pleasing to the eye, but only he knew the dark depths of the soul skin and bones beneath.

Harry didn't even know if he had a soul anymore.

He could see the garter clips taut against his tops of his thighs. He bit his lip as he slid his finger over the black fabric. He straightened the dress out as much as he could and stood up straight.

The more he looked at himself, the sicker he felt.

His mother would no doubt be ashamed of him if she knew what he was doing tonight. She was the only voice in the back of his mind telling him he was worth so much more than what he was forced to do.

She's the only thing that kept him going. She kept him strong. He knew his Momma always loved him and told him he was perfect no matter what. She lifted his spirit when he was low. She adored him unconditionally.

Harry's Momma was the memory he held onto in the darkest of times, but he wondered if she would really still love him if she knew the truth.

Would she still touch him, press her lips to his forehead, encompass him into her arms and hold him close to her heart, if she knew?

Harry didn't know.

His thoughts were interrupted when the stage manager knocked on the dressing room door before entering.

"You're on in five, Harry,"

Harry nodded before turning the light off and following the man.

~ ❁ ~

Harry thought about his mother a lot. When days got especially rough he could always drift through the deep dark tunnel in his mind and find the memories of her gorgeous smile.

Harry was such a good boy growing up. He really was a Momma's boy, being an only child. He came home to their beautiful house in the country after school and ran straight home to the warmth his mother's arms. He loved spending time with her; sitting on the back porch sipping lemonade in the comfort of the Florida sun.

Harry wasn't very good in school. He brought home the occasional C or D and she never did anything but kiss his forehead and praise him for doing his best. Harry wanted to spend all his time with her when he was a baby. He would crawl behind her on the carpet and cried when she put him down (according to the stories the woman told him at night before bed). Back when it was just the two of them, they would go out to movies and the park and eat ice cream and buttered popcorn. Harry's childhood memories were filled with light. She let him keep the little ball off fluff that was shivering on their front porch the day Harry came home and found it. They named the cat together, after feeding and quenching him. Tiger was a big part of Harry's home. Each day after school he walked in the house to the cat meowing and brushing up against his leg.

His Momma took him shopping for school and happily bought him the pink fleece sweater he fell in love with from the girl section. She never chided Harry or shook her head when he wanted to express himself. When Harry was bullied in middle school for painting his nails, she was always there to hold him when he got home. They cried together and afterwards, she called the school and scheduled a parent teacher conference.

Harry's mom was his hero. She was a power; a force that couldn't be reckoned with by the malignant ways of man. Harry never came out to his mom. He never had to. They talked one night after dinner about it, how Harry just didn't feel the way the other boys felt when they talked about girls. Of course, she had always known. She had a mother's instinct. She never, ever, saw a problem with him and didn't treat him any differently. To her, he was perfect in all his imperfections. Whenever something bad happened, he could always turn to her. No matter what.

When Harry was a freshman, there was a boy in his English class. Harry would watch him come in everyday and sit down at the desk next to his. The boy was quiet. He was quite handsome, polite, and was charming to everyone in the class. Harry grew fond of him rather quickly. Harry finally found the courage to talk to him one day after class, and from there it was just easy. Harry knew the boy was different, like him. It wasn't something they had to talk about.

Harry had a brilliant relationship with Justin - that was his wonderful name. He had light blue eyes and feathery blonde hair and baby soft skin. They held hands in the hallway and kissed in the stairwell and stayed up late to talk to each other on the phone. They ditched homecoming together to walk along the beach with their pants rolled up around their ankles and their hands clasped together.

Justin was soft spoken and innately kind. He was a romantic; bought Harry flowers, took him on dates and such. He treated Harry right. It was nice and Harry was glad he got the chance to know the boy so intimately.

For a long time they'd been talking about it. Sex. Harry wasn't ready. He hadn't been pondering that. He was fifteen. He was still a kid.

It's not like Justin pressured him or anything. That wasn't how it happened.

Harry doesn't exactly know how it happened.

It just...

happened.

One day after school. Harry was over at Justin's house. His parents were out. Harry knew he shouldn't have been there. They were doing homework together with pop radio playing. It was all shy smiles and blushing. It was the first time Harry saw that glint in a man's eye.

At some point they shoved their books aside and started making out. Harry was used to kissing his boyfriend by then. He was giddy that he could really use that word. He was in love; the realist thing to a teenager. Harry didn't know Justin was going to start taking his clothes off until it was happening.

Harry was scared his first time. He was shaking. He didn't know what to do. Justin was moving too quickly; he clearly knew what he wanted. Harry somehow knew that wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He knew it wasn't supposed to hurt him. He knew it was supposed to feel good, and to make him happy. Harry was everything but happy that night.

He tried to get Justin's attention, tremulously asked him to slow down because he wasn't sure he was ready to go that far with him, but the boy had shushed him. It was hard for Harry. He really loved Justin. It was his first boyfriend and he just wanted to make the relationship last.

If it weren't for that night, Harry honestly felt like they could still be together. If it weren't for that night, maybe they would have lasted. If it weren't for that night, maybe Justin would have stayed with him. If it weren't for that night, maybe Harry wouldn't have left.

But that night, Harry felt suffocated. He had his boyfriend above him, kissing him, entering him slowly, loving him in every way possible. But he didn't like what was happening and he wanted it to stop. He was hurting. He wasn't enjoying it and Justin had neglected that. Harry cried, that night. He felt like his wishes weren't important. He felt like his body wasn't important. He felt like he had to stay quiet and keep his thoughts to himself.

He had so many thoughts and concerns veering through his mind. Harry was terrified that Justin's parents would come home and find them having sex. They didn't know Justin was gay and would probably tell Harry's mom what they had been doing. He would have been mortified.

He was wondering where it had come from; why Justin had decided to hurt him like this.

He was thinking about why it was even happening. He was thinking about whether or not it was consensual. He loved Justin, but that didn't mean he wasn't being raped. But it was simple. Harry hadn't wanted to have sex with Justin. That was the answer. He hadn't agreed to it. It happened and Harry did nothing to stop it.

He never forgave himself for that.

Harry didn't actually finish properly his first time. Justin hadn't made it a priority, or maybe he'd forgotten, but Harry didn't know any better. For all he knew, he had taken care of his boyfriend and that was all there was to it. He thought they had done it right. They laid together in Justin's bed that night afterwards, holding each other.

But Harry really just wanted to go home. He didn't want to be in Justin's bed with him and he didn't want to be in his house. He felt sick, and unloved, having lost his virginity that way. He wanted to put on his clothes and go back to his house and pet Tiger and be engulfed into his Momma's arms. He wanted to rewind the clock back to the moment before Justin had kissed him. He wanted to go back before they had even met. He wanted to pretend it never happened. Harry wanted his innocence back.

Harry just wished he had done something differently. Then maybe things would be easier. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

Things only got worse after that night.

Harry drifted from Justin. Justin seemingly wanted to be with him 24/7. He had assumed that everything was fine and wonderful. He felt closer to Harry than ever. But Harry felt the polar opposite. Truth be told, he was afraid of Justin. Fear sort of took over his life, his decisions, his feelings. Fear shaped him.

Harry didn't want to go over to Justin's house. He didn't want to be kissed or let his body be touched. He wanted to be alone and spent most of second semester holed up in his room. He was shy around Justin and pretended to be alright. That was really when it started; the lying. He changed. Harry didn't know whether it was for better or for worse but it's who he became. It was a job. Harry learned how to please his boyfriend. He learned how to keep him happy so he wouldn't try to take without asking.

Harry was terrified. He did Justin's homework and baked him things, iced his ankle when he sprained it playing soccer. Harry foreboded the evenings Justin would call him over, tell him his parents were out for a while and that they could have the house to themselves. Harry tried to make excuses but he would always end up going; snuck out after dark. He learned how to let Justin into his body without feeling it. He learned how to let it go. He didn't fight it anymore.

He was fifteen.

Harry's Momma was so lovely. She was the most beautiful woman in the world inside and out. Harry now treasured every one of the moments he spent with her throughout those troubling teenage years of his life. But sadly, Harry didn't feel that way back then. He took her for granted. He didn't mean to, but he was in pain. He just didn't know how to express that. He was too ashamed to tell his mom what had happened that first year of high school, but the experience took such a toll on him and shaped the person he was today.

He didn't like to think about it. He no longer cried over it and he didn't dwell. He moved on.

One evening, Justin had him over, tangled in the sheets after they did the inevitable. Justin had softly told him that he didn't want him any more. His explanation was that he thought having sex would remind him of why he really liked Harry to begin with.

If Harry could pick one day in his life to be the all time worst, that day would top all the rest. Harry felt like garbage, like nothing. He had literally given Justin everything and it still wasn't good enough.  _He_  would never be good enough.

Justin made him get up, told him to get dressed and to go because he didn't want to see him anymore.

Harry sort of expected it but.  
It hurt even worse than he thought it would.

And when Harry stopped eating, started flunking, drifting from his school friends, talking back to his teachers, lashing out on his elders and slamming doors on his sweet, caring mother, he knew he had to do something.

So he ran.

He was sixteen when, one night, while his mother was sound asleep next to her new husband, Harry gathered his things. He only had a few dollars in his wallet. He had emptied all the worthless school crap from his backpack and stuffed it with his clothes.

He dressed quickly, slipped his shoes on, slid his jacket over his arms, and then his backpack.

He left the house and started walking from the country to the town. He walked along the freeway, his eyes downcast as the horns honked and headlights flashed.

He spent his first night on the streets, slept with his head on his bag. He woke to the harsh reality of his decision, but he didn't go back. He would never go back.

He had no money for food but it wasn't like he had been eating anyway.

He hitchhiked his way from Tallahassee across the state line into Georgia. He tried looking for jobs there. He didn't get very far. He was too young and had no experience.

In Atlanta, he met a group of boys who dwelled on the street. They saw him and basically offered him a life with them. Harry was too smart. He could tell he would be hooked in somehow. He didn't trust anyone anymore and that would never change.

He kept himself moving.

He never stayed in one city for too long.

He never wanted to get comfortable.

No one started him hustling. It wasn't like he had a tragic turning where a pimp picked him up off the street or a man offered him a ride for a favor in exchange.

No one forced Harry to sell himself.

He did it willingly.

He wasn't sure how much was enough to charge on the first go. He was nervous and worried about what could happen. He didn't want to have sex with anyone.

But it was the fastest way to make a lot of cash. And Harry needed cash. He needed clothes and food and a roof over his head. If he was going to do this, he had to be strong and he couldn't quit.

No matter how tough it got.

The first time, Harry showed up to the man's hotel room. They talked for a bit; Harry told him that he'd never done this before because he figured the man would like to know he would be fucking a virgin. Harry played him like a love song and conned three hundred dollars out of the poor sap.

It was a game after that. Harry improved his skill. He didn't have to think. He traveled from town to town, hitchhiked, used his money for the bus or taxi if he had it. He bought food or stole it and stuffed his face whenever he got the chance.

He depended on nothing and no one. He walked alone. That's how he wanted it.

Things were easy that way, simpler.

He was standing on the street one night, his back against the wall of whatever building was behind him when a car pulled up in front of him and rolled down the window.

Harry approached the car like he always did, peeked in and rested his forearms in the window.

"How much?" The greasy man asked.

Harry was still new to this. He hesitated, thought about how much would probably be too much to ask.

His self-esteem had plummeted over the past few months of him living on fast food and the generosity of others. He didn't feel like his body was worth any amount he was asking.

"How much would you take me for?" Harry asked.

Harry was a sad boy.   
He was a very sad boy. He didn't mind being used and abused. He wasn't affected by it. He would lay down next to a stranger at night time, beg them to give him something-  _anything_  so he could eat the next day. He didn't care. He was indifferent.

"Ten dollars," is what the man said. He was joking, of course, but Harry didn't know that.

Harry got into that car. He just wanted to get it over with so he could sleep. He was so tired all the time.

He would fall asleep while he was working, sometimes. He would get lost in the warmth and faux safety and security of another man's body and drift to sleep. Sometimes they would let him sleep. Other times they would hit him, force him to wake up. Neither of those times he got paid, though.

Harry didn't feel anything.  
He couldn't.

He didn't care whether or not the men used condoms. It was dangerous, but Harry was too far gone; too mentally fatigued to invest his hopes in anything lasting.

Sickness wasn't a concern of his. He got herpes a few times and something else he couldn't pronounce if he tried. Of STIs he never caught anything serious. He got some pretty bad colds, and fevers. He didn't have his Momma to make him homemade soup and tuck him in bed with a kiss to his forehead. He was a man now and had to take care of himself.

Doctors visits without insurance were expensive, he found out. He found himself sleeping with more men, and giving himself less time to recover. He had so much on his mind, yet, nothing at all.

He was eighteen years old when he first stepped into D.C., the nation's capital.

It was a big city and there were lots of men looking for sex.

And well, that was Harry's specialty.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. Prostitution and drugs went hand in hand, in his world. Harry didn't want to get hooked on something and end up in a ditch somewhere because he made the wrong decision. Harry thought about his Momma every day. He still wanted her to love him when they were reunited.

Harry met some of the drug dealers, and was too weary to refuse when one offered him a place to sleep for the night. He hadn't slept all night in a bed for several months and that night, on the bare mattress with a single sheet draped over his back, he slept like a log.

He hadn't expected the men to let him leave after they showed him kindness. They were younger men, around their twenties or early thirties. Most of the time strangers, especially on the streets, either wanted or assumed a favor in return. Harry was playing it safe until now.

He slipped up. He got comfortable.

He started living with them, was hustling during the days instead of nights, shared a box of pizza with the guys at night, slept for as long as he wanted to. Everything was great.

Harry didn't remember their names. It had been such a long time since he was eighteen, it feels. Three years, to be exact. A lot happened throughout those years.

Harry started smoking a little with them. Only pot. He liked the rush. Getting high was fun, scary and unpredictable. Harry was smart about it, though. The guys sold stronger stuff too, bags of unlabeled white powder, crystals in capsules, orange bottles of pills. Harry didn't touch any of it.

Harry didn't really speak much those years. He floated through every day and fought the demons of the street in order to breath. He was being crushed by the weight of his decision.

He thought about going back home a few times, when things got tough and he realized that he was destroying his whole life. He had a lot of anxiety about getting arrested and it was scary to think that one day his mom might get a call about her wonderful son, her sweet baby boy who disappeared one night without a trace. Harry's biggest fear was facing her, especially in a jail cell. He had done some horrible things in order to survive. He had done all the things he told her he would never dream of doing. Every Sunday he thought about her. How she was probably in church on her knees begging God to save him; to bring her baby home. But Harry couldn't be saved. He was going straight to hell after this world.

Harry lived with the men for a couple of months. He didn't know why, but one day they just didn't come back to the apartment. Harry shrugged and grabbed his bag, before heading back out into the wet summer night.

He paid for a hotel room with crumpled dollar bills and coins, slept there for a night and took a shower in the morning. He stuffed himself at the free complimentary breakfast, grabbed a styrofoam container and hoarded it high with eggs and potatoes and bacon and muffins. He took nearly everything and left. He walked out the door and out of that capital city. He never went back.

It was only a month after that he landed in Philadelphia. He was in a small neighborhood just about the suburbs of the city. He didn't know it at the time. He didn't know anything except that he was cold and starving. He was at the pinnacle of his distress. It was rough. He had absolutely nothing in his pockets. His clothing was tattered, his shoes worn. He was more of a homeless boy than a runaway at that point. He was just about ready to give up.

He had no idea what the universe had in store for him that night.

When that car pulled up in front of him.

He hopped in without a thought or feeling.

And that was the second worst mistake he ever made.

~ ❁ ~


	10. n i n e

~ ❁ ~

The club had a raffle going on tonight. As always, it was all about sex and money.

The men in the club would pay for tickets for each entertainer. The hopeful contenders would watch and bet on which they wanted the most. At the end of the show the tickets would be drawn and the raffle would be over. Each dancer got a cut of the money put toward them individually plus what they earned on stage, but it was only twenty percent, so if someone performed badly and no one bought tickets then they wouldn't be getting paid any extra. The winners of the raffle got to spend one night in the sponsored hotel with their prize.

It was fun for everyone.

The Sunday night strip show started at ten and lasted until midnight. The boys had to work hard if they really wanted a pay raise.

Harry sat backstage with the other boys, his legs crossed as he stared at the black linoleum floor.

Harry didn't really talk to the other strippers. He didn't have anything in common with them. He heard some of them talking about getting paid and having apartments and cars and saving up for a bigger place. He overheard compliments on skimpy outfits and costumes and hearty laughs about the men in the club. Harry took note of the smiles on their faces as they discussed the contest, how they hoped they were a handsome man's prize tonight.

He kept to himself as much as possible, listening to the host announce his name up next.

He stood and straightened out his dress, pulled the short thing down as far as it would go.

Harry heard ' _break a leg'_ s and kind ' _good luck'_ s directed at him as he walked toward the stage steps.

He thanked them with his trademark smile, before clacking onto the platform, his hands gripping the railing tightly.

He walked up the steps and onto the stage. Harry blushed hotly, receiving the suffocating flood of attention from the crowd.

He stood on the stage, the warped hum of screams and shouts from faceless men contorted him from the inside out.

He took a deep breath and smiled.

This was honestly what he'd rather do.

Harry danced in the same sexual, libidinous way he was accustomed to when the beat of the song came on. He felt the rhythm and the chords align with every thread of his being. He riled the crowd up easily, the rolls and swivels of his hips enough to make men drool.

He used to be young and timid. He used to be shy. He used to hide his body and feel embarrassed by his sexuality.

But Harry didn't anymore. That's because Harry didn't feel anything anymore. Nothing had meaning, to Harry. Nothing was pure. Nothing was true. Nothing had purpose. He just gave sex to whoever wanted it; offered it on a silver platter. He made a spectacle of himself, sold the one thing the brutal men famished for.

He slowly ran his hands up his body, red nails glistening in the bright stage lights. He used his index finger and his thumb to slip the strap of his dress over his shoulder.

The crowd roared like a wild beast, sending the shivers down Harry's spine. The boy closed his eyes as he continued to work the crowd to madness. He pulled on the waist of the tight black fabric until it was sliding up a little, exposing the garter on his thigh.

He kept going, the enthusiasm of the club edging him on. He teased the men, dragging the dress up higher and higher each time before pushing it back down.

The devil stood on that stage, devouring what was once an angelic boy. Harry's soul was consumed by the flames of a nightmare. His capability to feel was nonexistent.

He finally pushed himself to the limit, pulled the dress over his body which left him in the skimpy lingerie. The horny men screamed and whistled. Harry flushed furiously as he tossed the dress behind him.

The men started chucking the money in wads at the stage, bills flying, starving hands craving a touch.

Harry took his time after that. He didn't know what was left of him. He had nothing else to give but the men wanted more. They hungered for it. He stepped closer to the edge of the stage, kneeled down, let some of the men run their hands over his smooth thighs. The men swarmed like a flock of vultures, all seeking a taste of the piece of meat dangling in front of them.

The music was the only thing he had left to cling to. The hot smoke of the stage, the blinding lights and the boisterous yelling gave him a headache. Everything was warped, like fuzz. He heard nothing but the ringing in his ears and the boisterousness of a hundred dead men.

The men tucked money of all worth into his panties and under his garters. He let himself some relief in the fact that he was making a lot of cash this way. He was dancing and stripping and making more than he had last week's show.  
Maybe they liked him. It seemed like a bigger crowd, anyway.

The masses were nothing but one conglomerate to Harry. He didn't pick out anyone specific. He couldn't if he tried. They were all the same, anyway. They all had the same terrifying glint in their eye. They all had the same intentions. They all wanted to destroy him, pick him apart, leave him broken. None of them were innocent of the crime. They were all deranged demons, sentenced to an eternity in hellfire for their abominable sins.

Harry was guilty and would be doomed to spend the afterlife reliving his current one.

When the song ended, Harry collected his dress and his earnings, silently made his way backstage.

"That was amazing, Harry," one stripper boy complimented him, his eyes dark as he approached.

Harry nodded and thanked him. He wrapped his arms around himself. Ironically, he felt more exposed when he was confronted by one of his own colleagues. He didn't feel as confident. He felt naked and judged.

"That was the loudest applause all night," another man came up in his tight shorts and a mesh top.

Harry didn't know how to respond. He smiled and clutched the fabric of the dress in his hands even tighter.

"I think a lot of men are going to be fighting over you,"

Harry didn't want that. He kept a smile on his face and a thump in his heart but he wasn't keen on the idea that men could possibly fight for him.

Especially since he was now a part of this function. He would strip every Sunday night. He was the new boy and the clubbers had already fallen in lust with him. The crowds would grow every week and the men would get more attached.

He wanted to sleep with one man. He wanted to collect his pay and he wanted to go home. He wanted to get in some pajamas, get under the covers of his bed and sleep.

"I didn't think I was that good..." Harry murmured, still flushed from the performance.

"You were incredible. Things are gonna be real easy for you here on out," the first boy told him, accompanied by the nods from the second boy.

Harry didn't think so.

The boys all went their separate ways to dress and freshen up. Harry dabbed the oil from his face and reapplied a good bit of concealer on. He put another coat of lipstick on to make sure he was exactly the image the men saw him from on stage. Harry zipped up his bag and left the dressing room. He took his room assignment and left the club, walked to the hotel up the block.

He checked in at the front desk, ignored the strange look the woman gave him and got his room key. He rode the elevator to the fourth floor, got to the room, slid the card in the slot a few times before the three lights actually blinked green and the lock snicked open.

When he got into the quiet room he took his bag and laid it on the counter of the kitchenette. He had at least thirty minutes before the man came to collect his prize, so Harry sat on the end of the bed and counted up his money. He didn't like it when Liam wasn't with him. He didn't want any one to take his earnings from him. He wanted Liam to have it so he didn't have to worry about that any longer. But he was on his own tonight.

He counted near two hundred dollars already and he recounted to make sure he hadn't miscounted. He never finished school.

After tucking his money into the side pouch of his purse, he washed his hands and went to the bathroom. He'd been holding his urine all night.

He took his dress off and folded it neatly, placed it right beside his bag. He took his heels off, placed them on the floor beside the bed just in case the man wanted to see him in them. He ran his hand through his hair as he sat on the bed, his legs crossed as he thought.

He decided to lay on the bed, faced down so that his winner didn't have to wait.

He laid there for a few minutes, naked from the waist up, awaiting what was to come. He was cold. The hotel room had windows and he was shivering.

The door clicked open and the air shifted. Harry ceased his jittering immediately and held still.

He heard the thump of a man taking his shoes off, maybe dropping a coat. He didn't hear the shedding of clothes, however. He swallowed nervously as the shadowy figure approached him, heavy steps until the bed dipped with his presence.

Harry felt the warmth of a familiar hand smooth across the plane of his back. He closed his eyes at the feeling, exhaled and relaxed. He was tense. He was anxious about tonight, but the man was calming him.

Harry closed his eyes, not turning or moving his head to see the man. He just laid there cordially.

The man leaned down close to his ear, a raspy voice whispering in the darkness,"Put your clothes on,"

Harry blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing as he sat up slightly. He didn't speak. Neither of them did. Harry wanted to obey but he was confused.

Didn't the man want him?

Harry got up from his position, turned to the man with wide eyes and nodded. The man was very familiar, but it was dark and Harry couldn't see him.

He stood and went over to his things, put his dress back on quickly, before turning to the dark man.

"Turn the light on," the voice spoke.

Harry did as he was asked, stumbled over to the light switch and flicking it.

When Harry turned around he was surprise to find someone he hoped he would never see again.

" _Louis_?" Harry took a step back toward the door, shocked. He was surprised he even remembered the man's name. But how could he forget?

"We meet again, Harry," Louis sat on the end of the bed, his arms crossed.

Harry gulped and internally screamed. What was he supposed to do now? The last time they met Harry had literally cheated him into buying his services. He had forced him to pay. That wasn't fair and Harry usually asked for a payment up front because it avoided most problems on the spot. But Harry hadn't really been thinking that night and he ended up doing something uncalled for.

"I, uh...didn't see you at the club tonight," Harry stammered, nervously. He didn't know what Louis was going to do to him and he was afraid.

"I saw you," Louis said, his eyes downcast.

"So... you won me?" Harry asked, after a long moment of silence between the two.

Louis stood from the bed and walked toward Harry. He had jeans and a t shirt on. He wasn't dressed as nicely as the first time they met.

Harry didn't know what to think as Louis got closer to him with each step, so he backed up a little himself.

"It seems I have..." Louis sighed, as he got even closer, until Harry was pressed with his back against the door of the hotel room.

"Um... I-uh," Harry stuttered, as Louis stood right in front of him, so close that Harry could see the blue of his eyes and the pinkness of his lips. Harry gulped once more, his throat working. He didn't want Louis to be angry with him. He probably was with the way he was so close. Harry felt intimidated. Louis was most likely bitter for being humiliated by Liam. Harry deserved whatever he got tonight.

"Didn't expect to see you again after that night," Louis mumbled somewhat to himself. He reached out to Harry and the boy closed his eyed, flinching.

Louis dropped his hand with heavy exhalation.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the hotel carpet.

"Are you gonna hurt me?" Harry asked straightforwardly, slowly looking up and catching the older man's gaze.

Louis shook his head and took a step back.

"I just wanted to talk to you. Is that okay?" Louis said, clarifying. Harry really wasn't in the mood for this right now. He was tired and he felt like shit. He didn't need Louis here to make him feel any worse.

Harry didn't want to look at Louis, so he watched the floor.

"Harry? Can we talk?" Louis asked, softly.

"I guess..." the boy grumbled, picking at the material of his dress.

Louis sat him down on the end of the bed, talked to him about how his friends convinced him to check out the strip show and how he wasn't really into it, but the moment he saw Harry's name on the raffle he had to buy the tickets.

Louis told him that a lot of people had wanted him and had been arguing about how the draw was rigged when they lost.

Harry was listening, picking at the paint on his nails. It wouldn't budge, though. Liam had taken him to get his nails done and the woman had used some extra coats and soaked his nails in some special solution to keep the paint from chipping.

"What about you?" Louis asked, with all the friendliness in the world.

Harry glanced up, bewilderedly.   
"What do you mean?"

"Like... how was your night?" Louis asked.

"Okay, I guess. Fine." Harry dismissed the question. He wasn't quite sure why Louis wanted to talk to him instead of fuck him. He seemed to really enjoy it the last time it happened.

"That performance was really something. The crowd loved it." Louis commented.

"Did you like it?" Harry asked, coyly.

Louis cleared his throat, wiped his sweaty hands on his pants before responding.

"It's not really my thing,"

Harry frowned, offended. He put a lot of effort into those performances. It was more than just stripping for cash. It took courage and confidence Harry lacked for him to go and take his clothes off in front of perfect strangers. It was not easy and to hear Louis say he didn't like it made him angry.

"Why did you buy tickets then?" Harry asked hotly.

"I wanted to see you. Not the show," Louis told him tenderly.

Harry scoffed. He hated when men got attached to him. It happened sometimes. He fucked a guy and then they started coming back for more, became a regular. Harry broke a lot of hearts selling love for a living.

"Well, you've got me." Harry said, sitting up straighter. He flipped his hair out of his face. Maybe Louis would fuck him. Maybe he could go home afterwards.

"I don't want to have sex with you,"

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up. He really didn't have time for this. If Louis was this kind of guy then he most certainly did not have time for him.

"Then I don't need to be here," Harry got up, and walked toward the counter, picked up his bag and then walked around the bed to collect his shoes.

Louis grabbed him by his arm.   
"Please don't go. I think I deserve an explanation for what you did to me,"

Harry paused.

Honestly, he couldn't deny it. It was the least he could do. Louis paid a lot of money for those raffle tickets and Harry would be getting twenty percent of that pile of cash whether Louis screwed him or not.

So Harry sat back down.

"Thank you," Louis sighed, running a hand through his feathery brown hair.

They sat there for a long moment in the quiet. Harry didn't know how much an explanation would suffice. Louis seemed insistent and he wasn't sure if he could sit with him for long without growing impatient.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Louis asked irritatedly.

"I didn't think you would do it if I told you before," Harry murmured. It wasn't exactly the ideal setting for whoring. It was out in the open in the middle of the city. It was the easiest thing to get arrested if you weren't smart.

"You don't know me," Louis told Harry.  
"That's a little judgmental."

"Well, I'm sorry. Most people don't want anything to do with me," Harry said in defense. He was blushing and he didn't even know why.

"It was messed up of you to lie like that on purpose," Louis huffed.

Louis didn't get it. He never would. No one would ever understand. It is what it is and Harry did what was necessary to survive. Louis needed to learn that not everyone will do what is right. As a matter of fact, most people won't.

"And to call your pimp on me? Really?" Louis was really upset about this. Harry had to try really hard not to feel bad. He felt just as shitty when Liam chastised him for something. He recoiled and wrung his hands together in his lap, anxiously waiting for the man to leave him alone about it.

"I would have given it to you but it was late and I didn't think it would be that big of a deal." Louis said.

Harry felt himself getting really frustrated and he didn't know why. His face was hot and his eyes were stinging.

"You didn't tell me anything until it was too late," Louis said, knocking Harry down even further.

"I'm sorry, okay?!" Harry raised his voice at him.

Louis sat quietly and nodded. It seemed that those words were what he had been seeking all along.

"I forgive you," Louis smiled slyly.

Harry frowned and took a deep shaky breath. He was not about to cry in front of Louis, but those words were it for him. They triggered something lost inside his broken shell of a heart. His chest ached as Louis looked at him with that soft smile, his eyes crinkly around the edges.

"Okay, fuck you," Harry slurred as he pressed his fingers into his eyelids. He didn't need his makeup to start running.

"Lovely," Louis nodded as he sprawled out onto the bed on his back. His long natural hair flopped out on the hotel comforter.

Harry folded his arms over his chest angrily. He didn't know how it was possible for Louis to do that to him and then act innocent.

Harry hated men.

"Well what about you? Do you sleep with prostitutes often?" Harry asked. If Louis could run his mouth all night so could he.

"You weren't the first," Louis revealed with a regretful expression on his face.

"I wasn't? How many were there before me," Harry asked from where he sat on the bed, hands over the stocking-clothed knees.

"Two..." Louis said ashamedly. Good. Louis should feel ashamed. But it was still nothing in comparison.

"Wow. I haven't even slept with that many men," Harry mocked him, with a tight red smile.

"Well, they weren't men,"

_Oh._

Okay, so maybe Louis did have him beat. Harry didn't sleep with women. He refused. He only bed them when Liam forced him too.

"I wanted them to convince me I was straight," Louis told Harry, his voice reverent. Harry heard a lot of this type of thing. As a prostitute he heard the stories about men who had just recently left their girlfriends because they didn't feel that the relationship was working any longer. Harry saw men slip wedding rings on after they had just fucked him. Harry had witnessed angry phone calls and after, he listened to them talk about their problems. Harry was a good listener.

"Oh, I see." Harry nodded. It made him feel slightly better to hear Louis talk. His voice was smooth and weightless like feathers floating in the sunlight. It was dainty and elegant but at the same time confidently conversational.

"Do you really?" Louis asked, a smile creeping up his face.

"Sure I do," Harry said, scooting up the bed. He sat on his feet and placed his hands on his thighs.

"I had some rough years but... I'm okay now. Good stable job and all that,"

Harry ran his hand up and down the thigh highs as Louis talked, humming in response when it was appropriate, making faces when Louis tried to tell jokes, agreeing with him on occasion. He wasn't paying any attention to the time.

"You can go if you want Harry. I don't mean to keep you. I just wanted us to settle that." Louis made sure to tell him after a moment.

"No, no... I just... this is nice. Not having to work," Harry mumbled, as he pulled the hem of his dress down.

Louis made an understanding noise, his hand rubbing at his eye.

"I'll go in a minute," Harry said. He didn't want Louis to get the wrong idea. Getting comfortable certainly didn't do him any good in the past. Comfort didn't exist in Harry's world. Anything to distract him from the consistent chains he lived in was just fine.

Louis yawned and closed his eyes.

Harry sort of caught on in that moment. He wasn't a smart boy, but he could tell what Louis had given up for him. Louis had probably spent a ton of money to ensure himself the winner of Harry's raffle. He probably had work tomorrow because most people worked from Monday to Friday. Louis had to have another reason he would go through the trouble.

Harry knew exactly what that was and it frightened the living daylight out of him. Not that there was any light inside of Harry, but.

The boy stayed there until Louis fell asleep. He stood from the bed and quietly grabbed his bag and his heels.

He thought about checking Louis's coat pockets for money out of habit. He decided that he had stolen enough from the man and left the hotel room with only his honest earnings.

~ ❁ ~


	11. t e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I greatly appreciate the all the comments and kudos (:

~ ❁ ~

Lauren and Joe had been at it all week. It must have been some hormonal side affects due to Lauren's pregnancy but regardless of its origins the whole house was grieving over it. The two girls were in a constant state of insatiable, inseparable, closeness. And it was driving Harry to madness.

It wasn't just that Lauren was clingy and whiny and crying like a child all the time, but mostly because she was eight months pregnant — she was horny as hell.

Also, she was too pregnant to work. So the rest of them had to pick up her slack, Liam said.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table eating a salad from the convenient mart up the road, being forced to overhear all that went down on the living room couch not twenty feet away.

"Mmm... so wet for me babe," Joe murmured. The sound of kissing noises made Harry's skin crawl. He tried his best to think about dead animals, paper money, even Liam at one point, but nothing could alleviate the sinking feeling in his stomach as he chewed on the crunchy bits of iceberg lettuce from his meal.

"Touch me," the younger girl whimpered, her voice breathy and impatient.

Harry dropped his fork and placed his hands over his ears when he heard soft, wet lapping noises coming from around the corner.

Harry sometimes missed privacy. It wasn't a realistic craving, since they all lived out of each other's assholes these days, but he felt for the other girls when they had to witness what he was hearing. Sympathy was - strangely - something he was starting to feel again. And no one should have to be subjected to the arduous sounds of lesbian cunnilingus.

Without another thought, Harry grabbed his fork, salad and stood from the table, darting out of proximity toward his room, whilst ignoring the scarring image of Joe between Lauren's legs, hands against her belly.

He walked in and plopped down on the bed. Mariana was sitting in the window, her eyes focused on the glass.

"Hey," Harry greeted her as he tore open the package of dressing and drizzled it over his salad.

"Hi," the girl nodded toward him in acknowledgement. She turned around to face him, her dainty legs dangling over the side of the ledge.

"I'm sick of them," Harry told Mari as he mixed the salad with his plastic fork.

"Why do you think I'm in here," Mari dryly chuckled.

"I didn't know they would start going at it while I was sitting there, Jesus," Harry sucked his fingers of the excess sauce.

"I'm sorry that must have been traumatic," the girl gave him a empathetic look. Harry hummed in agreement. It had been indeed.

"So what were you doing in here?" Harry asked out of curiosity. It wasn't like the girls could leave during the day unless they had a legitimate reason. Liam didn't want them roaming around or going anywhere that might get him in trouble. Liam's business wasn't any business of theirs, but it kept bills paid and stomachs fed, so nobody questioned it or complained.

"Just thinking..." Mariana said, introspectively. Harry took a bite of salad and nodded.

"'bout what," Harry inquired.

"Home," Mari sighed.

Harry hadn't expected her to say that. He himself didn't like thinking about home. There were reasons why he didn't. He was so far from that idea of ' _home_ ' now. The house he lived in was his home. It was where he belonged. It was where his purpose lied.

"Wanna talk?" Harry asked her. It wasn't always something the girls wanted to share. Mariana had run away like he had. She had different reasons and Harry didn't know whether or not it was his business. That was her call.

"Not really... just... I don't know," She sounded distressed.

"What?" Harry tilted his head as he chewed a soggy bit of salad.

"Do you ever think about..." she paused, hesitantly.

Harry listened.

"I don't know... getting out?" She whispered, as if her words were poison.

Harry sighed.

Of course he did. He used to think about it more than anything else. He didn't like being forced to do anything. He used to have his own free will and kept every penny he earned.

They didn't talk about it. They were prisoners. They were slaves. It was an silent understanding all the girls shared.

"Yeah. I do," Harry whispered right back. It wasn't like anyone could hear them but everything he said could be used against him. Mariana was the only girl he could honestly talk to. That didn't mean he told her what he felt about everything. Harry didn't trust anyone. Not even the people he got along with.

"I think about saving my own money. Getting my own apartment," Mari said into her knees, pulled them up to her chest.

Harry nodded. He wasn't eating his salad anymore.

"I want to have my own life... sometimes,"

Harry agreed. With every fiber in his body he supported Mari's bravery. He could never tell anyone what he _actually_ thought of his life. It was forbidden to speak the truth among the walls of the house. It took courage and Harry admired that about her.

"Instead of having to give my hard earned money to _him_ ," Mariana didn't like Liam. Harry wasn't sure any of them did in spirit.

"I know," Harry said. He didn't like bad mouthing Liam though. He kept those thoughts to himself.

"Maybe one day," she huffed.

It was always one day, Harry supposed.

~ ❁ ~

The water flooded from the faucet, as Harry turned the handle. He made sure the water was warm and pleasant before he started.

He ran his hands up and down his pudgy thighs, biting his lip as he coated his soft skin in handfuls of water. He picked up his razor from the side of the tub before reaching all the way down to his ankle and gently dragging the sharp blade all the way back up as meticulously as possible. He concentrated on the thin brown stubbly points covering his knee, carefully shaving away each of those pest-like hairs.

As he sat on the edge of the tub, a warm shadow approached behind him.

"Harry,"

Harry turned his head instantly, looking up at the man.

"Liam needs you to do something,"

Niall stood there in his boots and his coat. It had snowed this morning and the streets were cloaked in white.

Harry nodded. He sorta knew what that meant. It wasn't easy being Liam's favorite. That meant he had to do the dirty work that the other girls weren't trusted to.

He finished shaving his legs, drained the tub and placed his razor on the ledge.

He stood and dried off before pulling his sweatpants on over his boxers. He turned the light off and left the bathroom.

Niall showed Harry to the girls' room. He pushed open the door and walked inside.

The girls shared a room and it was much bigger than Harry's room. It looked smaller because of all the clothes and junk strewn about.

On one of the beds sat Lauren. She had a younger girl sitting beside her. Harry had never seen the girl before and so he guessed she was the assignment Liam had for him.

The first thing Harry noticed about the girl was that her hair was the most beautiful pile of golden curls. She had smooth brown skin, big eyes like dark chocolate and lips like bubblegum.

Lauren was talking to her quietly, her hand placed low on the girl's back.

She looked about a year or two younger than Lauren.

Harry had really hoped Liam was done collecting. It wasn't the horrible idea of taking some poor girl off the street and turning her to make money that disturbed him. No, Harry was over that. He just didn't think Liam would do it again. It was risky to pick up someone so young. Harry didn't know how he did it, but Liam put himself at a much greater risk whenever he took an underaged girl. Harry thought that when Liam brought Lauren to the house that he was done. So Harry was a little thrown off.

"This is Harry. He's one of us," Lauren said quietly to the girl. She looked up at him with the biggest eyes and the saddest expression he had ever seen. It was the same ' _help me_ ' look that every one of them had when they first arrived.

"Hi. What's your name?" Harry asked. The girl took a long time to answer. She looked scared out of her mind. Harry felt his chest ache.

"Keshia," the girl whispered. Harry nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile.

It was so hard to watch this unfold time and time again. Harry did his best. Things were the way they were and there wasn't anything he could do to change them.

It had been a good week since Mariana reminded Harry of the possibilities. He had been working hard everyday and he hadn't been thinking about them.

Not until now. He saw this angel, this gorgeous creature wrapped in innocence and beauty. He saw her future. He lived it in the present. He couldn't imagine allowing this to happen to her. Harry couldn't feel anymore, but he knew for certain this little girl would feel everything.

"That's a beautiful name," Harry said.

~ ❁ ~

Into the cave of the beast, Harry walked. He was dressed to go out. He had knocked on the wall and Liam told him he could enter so he did.

"What, Harry? I'm busy," Liam grumbled as he picked through his clothes in search of something clean.

"Um... what's going on?" Harry asked, holding onto the doorway.

"What are you talking about..." Liam mumbled, unamused.

"Why is Keshia here?" Harry asked. He needed Liam to give him an answer before he did his ungodly duty.

"Who the fuck is that," Liam muttered.

"The girl. The little girl with the pretty hair," Harry rolled his eyes at Liam. He could pick her up but he didn't even bother to ask her name.

"Oh. You know what to do. Why are you asking me," Liam yanked on his shirt over his torso, slipping his arms through.

"Because I thought you said after Lauren that it was too crowded in here. We can't afford another-"

"Mind your own fucking business Harry. Why is everyone acting like they have a say? I tell you what to do and you do it. It's that simple." Liam raised his voice at him.

"I'm sorry, I just... " Harry swallowed, nervously. He shook his head and decide to let it go. "When do you want her ready?"

"I'll have to do some work first so I'll let you know." Liam said, as he shoved past Harry to get out the door. Harry stumbled a bit before regaining his balance.

He was going to follow Liam. He wanted to ask some more questions but he decided that now probably wasn't the time. It seemed that Liam was more and more bitter each day. Maybe he was having a bad week, Harry thought. 

~ ❁ ~


	12. e l e v e n

  
~ ❁ ~

The night ended fairly quickly for Harry. He only had to service a few customers before he made enough profit to call it a night. He slipped his earnings to Niall and went back into the house. It was only midnight and he wasn't complaining. He couldn't even recall a night he was able to have a peaceful rest in a nearly empty home. He took a long, hot shower and changed into some soft, cotton sleep wear. He was just about to climb under the covers when he heard a knock on his door.

He groaned, the annoyance sharp like pins in his skull. He reluctantly rose from the bed, rubbing at his forehead as he trudged back across the room. He unlocked the door with a huff and opened it, revealing a very woeful pregnant girl with tear drowned eyes.

"What?" He asked, impatiently.

"I need your help," Lauren pleaded. Harry couldn't understand why whatever it was couldn't wait until tomorrow. It was most likely something to do with the girl, however between Liam and himself it had already been concluded that he wasn't going to be providing any services until further notice.

"With what..." He sighed, blinking quickly.

"I've been trying to get her to take a bath for hours but she's like, I don't know... fighting me? I guess,"

"What am _I_ supposed to do about that? She's a _girl_. I can't help you." Harry grumbled tiredly. He wasn't used to being allowed to come back to the house this early and if Lauren thought she was about to dump her responsibility on him on a rare night off then she had a typhoon of awakening coming her way.

"I know... I'm just— will you like, calm her down at least? She hasn't been listening to me,"

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Just," Lauren scratched at her scalp, the messy bun of dirty blonde hair shifting against her head. She was cloaked in a big white t shirt and old pair of sweatpants that hung from her body like a sheet on a ghost. Lauren already looked a tired mother and her child hadn't even been born. Harry sighed to himself, for the thought of her ever learning to care for her appearance was already so pitifully sacrificed for motherhood.

"Talk to her, I guess." Lauren decided, glaring up at him with uncertainty.

"What do I say?" Harry inquired.

"God, I don't know Harry! Please, just _try_. I know your good at it," Lauren begged him, flipping a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"Good at it _how_?!" Harry slurred, utterly baffled at the words Lauren tried to use to get him to agree. He was so lost. He hated turning girls just as much as she did. It was disgusting. It wasn't fair of Lauren to drop Keshia on him. Who said he knew the ropes any better than any of the others? How would he know how to induct someone into this fucked society?

"I just know it, okay? You calmed me down! My first night," Lauren murmured the last few words, averting her eyes from Harry's gaze.

Harry didn't respond, right away, allowing Lauren's words to sink in and affect the air surrounding their tense bodies. He ran an anxious hand across his hair, releasing a soft exhale after a heavy moment of silence. He didn't like to think about the night Lauren got here. It had been a bad time for all of them. She had had it rougher than most and adjusted way better than anyone Harry had ever seen. She was strong, built for survival.

"She won't listen to you?" Harry asked, more calmly now. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering open once more.

"No. I've tried everything and I'm stressing out because Liam is going to be back eventually and he's been in such an awful mood lately. I just don't want to get punished," Lauren whimpered, her baby blue eyes dripping wet. She tried to push the tears away, catch her breath and recompose herself but they only kept returning. Harry breathed.

"I know..." He agreed. It was an honest concern. He hated that he felt sorry for Lauren; it was almost impossible to be annoyed with her when she was so innocently sweet. She never did anything to hurt anyone and she tried her best to keep the others in the house happy. Harry saw no valid reason to let her suffer. None of them deserved that.

He was sick and tired of doing the right thing.

"I guess I can try." Harry assured her. Lauren thanked him copiously. He walked past her and went down the hall into the girls' room.

He peeked into the room and saw the girl, sitting on the bed crying her eyes out.

"She's so timid, Harry. I don't know how we're going to do this," Lauren whispered to him from behind.

"I know," Harry repeated. He did know.

He opened the door slowly, walked in quietly so the girl wasn't frightened when she saw him approaching.

Keshia wiped her eyes quickly.   
Harry saw himself in her.

"Hi, Keshia," Harry said gently as he walked toward the end of the bed and sat down. Lauren stayed in the hallway, eavesdropping.

The girl did not respond. She was too busy eying him, her eyes glistening with distrust. Trust was something Harry lost long before his life on the streets began. He didn't how to get this girl to trust him while also sharing with her the truth that in this house— this world — no one could be trusted. It was going to be more than just a challenge. Some girls simply weren't built for it. Some people didn't have it in their coding to withstand the tribulation. It made things complicated and frankly, uncomfortable.

"Why don't you want to take a bath?" Harry asked. He found himself staring at her beautiful curls. They were so small, each like perfect little golden spirals. He'd never seen someone like her before, save for television programs or magazine adverts.

Keshia just looked at him, her watery eyes sparking with confusion, maybe even frustration. Harry understood. She still didn't answer.

He took a deep breath. It had been awhile since he had to do this. It never got any easier to try to persuade someone that this life was a good thing, that it was the right thing to do.   
Because he had to lie. Harry never was a very good liar.

"I know this is strange... I do. When I first got here I was terrified." Harry told her, dropping his gaze to the floor. In his peripherals he could see the girl looking at him, so he continued.

"I fought the people who wanted to help me... I learned for myself the hard way," Harry sighed. He remembered the first night he came here. He remembered the girl who tried to warn him. She told him not to fuss and not to fight but he refused to listen, stupid and mistaken and under the impression that by giving in he would be taking the easy way out.

Harry simply hadn't known Liam would beat him and rape him until he resorted to obedience. He hadn't known how abhorrent things could be for him here if he didn't acquiesce. He tried to run. He tried to run so many times those first few months, but Liam would always send someone after him. Liam would always catch him and there was hell to pay as consequence.

Girls came and went but he had been there since he was a teenager. Once Harry learned his lesson, he learned it well. He never pushed the boundaries anymore. He learned his place.

He didn't want this sweet girl to have to experience that on her own. Harry could not bear to witness it. Not again.

"Please... just, trust me. We want to _help_ you. _I_ don't want anything bad to happen to you. Don't make the same mistake I did," Harry lifted his eyes to give the girl everything honestly. He couldn't lie to her. He had to be realistic.

"That man who brought you here is _not_ your friend. He's terse, and he's strong, and he's king. He _will_ hurt you if he has to." Keshia's eyes were wide with trepidation. She looked utterly frozen in disquietude as the older boy spoke. Harry knew what it felt like to be terrified.  
It used to define him.

"I promise you we'll be alright, but we have to stick together, okay? I know it's weird. We're perfect strangers to you but... we've been here much longer and trust me, you want to hear it from us... not them," Harry looked into the girl's dark brown eyes. He didn't like to see children wind up in this house. He was technically an adult when he got here but this poor child was in middle school at most.

Harry didn't want to think about what would happen to her innocence.

"I want to go home," Keshia whimpered, falling into Harry's arms. He was startled.

Some really responded to kindness and honesty, he supposed. He wasn't expecting her to feel in any way comforted by the arms of a stranger, but then again he knew what it felt like to be amidst a world of agony and to seek shelter in the soundest structures. He carefully placed his hand on her back, patting her awkwardly.

Keshia cried like any child would, uncontrollably. She started wailing, her young healthy voice belting out the lamentations of her heart. She had to at some point - get the pain out, let her body react naturally to strange people telling her how her life was going to commence from here on out.

"I know. Me too," he exhaled. He couldn't help but rub her back as she cried. He found that he didn't mind it when her tears soaked through his shirt and wet his skin. She was so young and so scared. Harry wished he could take that suffering away and bear it himself.

He sat there with her as she let it all consume her, her voice raw by the time she finished. Harry gave her a small sad smile as she pulled away to wipe her cheeks on the sleeves of her shirt, taking a deep, unsteady breath. Then they sat there, silence engulfing the room.

Lauren took that as her cue to come back in. She waddled in and held her hand out for the girl to take.

With great reluctance, Keshia stood and took her offer. Lauren led her into the bathroom.

Harry stayed seated on the bed and listened as, down the hall, Lauren instructed the girl where the linen closet was and how to work the tub and the shower.

A few minutes passed and Harry heard water running. Then, Lauren reemerged into the room. She sat down on the bed next to him and wiped the rest of the tears from her own eyes.

"Thanks, Harry,"

He stared into space, still in shock of what just happened.

"Can I trouble you with one more thing?" The young woman asked as she placed her hand over her belly.

Harry blinked and turned to her, nodded slowly at his roommate's words.

"You probably don't want to hear about it but... I'm having some problems with Joe," Lauren mumbled.

"Like what?" Harry sat back.

"Well... she wants to... um," Lauren hesitated, her soft spoken voice stopping for a moment.

"What..." Harry frowned. He really hoped it wasn't bad. He didn't think he could tolerate any more sorrow right now.

"She wants to keep the baby," Lauren said, ripping the bandage off quickly.

Harry's frown got even deeper.  
"What?"

"Oh," Lauren covered her face sweetly, her soft pale hands collecting the tears that started falling again.

" _Why_? Is she stupid?" Harry asked harshly. He chastised himself as soon as the words left him.

Harry was just so done with that girl. Joe was out of her mind. There was no way Liam would tolerate a baby in the house. Who would watch the child when Lauren had customers to serve? The poor girl would never get any rest. She would have to feed and clothe and change the child and tend to it in the middle of the night. Joe wasn't thinking. That much was certain.

"I know it's not... possible. I know that. But," Lauren cried as quietly as she could, but her voice still cracked. "It's just so hard, Harry. I love Joe. I do. But she has me thinking... an-and I know that's not good,"

"What do you mean?" He asked, skeptically.

"I think I might agree with her."

_That was it._

_That_ was the problem.

Harry shook his head.

Lauren hadn't known she was pregnant until it was too late to get an abortion. It was hard to believe how fast time flew. She would be delivering this baby really soon and changing plans at the last minute wasn't a very good idea.

"Don't you know how ridiculous you sound?" Harry asked her. He was taken aback by her insipidity.

"She's my baby. I can't just give her up... growing up and wondering why I didn't want her. I don't want her to feel the way I did in the foster system, getting passed around and abused... and being _hated_ her whole life." Lauren gritted angrily.

Harry could tell by her use of pronouns that Lauren was attached. For nearly nine months she had developed a relationship with her child. She thought it was a girl, and although she didn't know for sure, Harry felt inclined to believe her.

There was no way it would be an easy thing to hand the child over to the government's doorstep.

"It'll be worse if the kid grows up here." Harry tried to reason with her.

"No. She'll be with me. Joe and I... we'll take care of her." Lauren grumbled as she wiped her eyes continuously.

"Lauren..." Harry gave her a sad look. It was so unlikely. What she was proposing would never work.

"You don't want Liam to get his hands on your kid. That's what's gonna happen if you don't let her go," Harry was sick of having to be the parent all the time, but he knew exactly what had to be done and he had to constantly remind the girls not to get comfortable.

"Pardon me..." she sniffled. "... but Liam can go right to hell,"

Harry couldn't help but smile. She was so cute. A girl like Lauren deserved everything in the world and he could understand why Joe would want to make her happy by supporting her decision. If Lauren secretly pined for the baby, Joe would fight for her right to keep it.

"I don't know,"

Harry sat with her until Keshia came into the room with a towel wrapped around her small body.

Harry gave Lauren's shoulders a squeeze before standing and exiting the girls' bedroom.

Keshia's eyes followed him as he left.

~ ❁ ~


	13. t w e l v e

~ ❁ ~

The heavy pounding bass surged a hot, aphrodisiacal sensation through his bones.

He was really hitting it tonight. Harry closed his eyes and let the heady club air drown him. He choked on the steam of sweaty bodies and the bitter scathe, of liquor.

Harry planned to leave the club immediately after his shift ended. His Tuesday, Friday schedule was a pretty flexible job. He just had to work the men, dance for them, entertain them. It was easy enough and didn't take much effort.

Maybe Harry had tried too hard. He didn't feel like he had to do much now, but it wasn't always that way. When Harry first began stripping for money he really didn't like it. He was young and shy and insecure about his body. That didn't mean he wasn't good at it. He was just too frightened of the crowd to go out there and expose himself.

And Liam really needed Harry to work hard. Manny had the only gay club in the city and so he got loads of business. Liam got a cut of that depending on how well Harry did. Harry was his only boy, so not only could Harry advertise his services there but he could supply them as well. Liam would make a ton.

That first night he cried backstage with mascara streaking down his cheeks and Manny, the club manager, called Liam and told him. Liam had punished Harry when he got back to the house. 

So Harry learned fairly quickly after that. He danced his broken heart out.

His pulse still raced when he stood at the door of the stage. His blood still ran cold with the eyes of a population staring at his body. He still cried sometimes, but it was in the comfort of his own seclusion. He knew what he had to do and he sucked it up.

In the eyes of everyone else, Harry was a queen. He was a god. He was an unstoppable force. He was a powerful individual. His spirit couldn't be crushed by the heavy chains he lived in. He fought back and most awed at him. The girls in the house definitely prized him. They would never admit it, but Harry was the first person they came to when they had troubles or needed help. Harry had been with Liam, turning tricks for him the longest. He knew how to survive. He knew what he needed to do in order to please his pimp. And he did just that.

Amidst the countless wanton bodies, Harry's eye caught onto a familiar face in the crowd.

It was, of course, none other than Louis.

Louis smiled and walked over to his platform where he stood. He took out his wallet and smirked at the boy.

Harry continued to grind down on the pole, ignoring the comical man.

Harry couldn't understand why Louis was always popping up everywhere. He knew it was a popular place for a gay man to be. Harry serviced a lot of the same guys as a result. There weren't many places in the city to legally sell sex. Harry was an outlaw.

Louis took out a few one dollar bills and started ' _making it rain_ ' over the boy's body. Louis chuckled as Harry rolled his eyes. He ignored him and kept on dancing, his salacious waist and downright sinful hips working together to make the other men glare, envy flaming within.

He was on his last song of the night. He had been counting them to this point. At this time in his life he was checking everything he did off of one giant list. It never seemed to end. Liam was always pushing him to the limit just so he could pull him back again. Harry was overworked and underplayed.

Louis was with some other guy. They were talking and chatting in some of the lounge chairs sipping on drinks. Louis had a big smile on his face. Harry frowned.

It was so cliché of them. As men, they always had to be in control. Harry was a fucking hot seductress, using his body to reduce men to puddles of drool. He was good. He was  _great_. He knew that. Louis should have been paying attention to him. He deserved at least more than a measly three dollars. He tried harder, worked himself until his muscles ached and his thighs burned. He frustratedly stared daggers into the side of Louis's head. He was doing this for him.

When Louis finally gave him a quick glance, it was short lived. He went back to chatting with the irrelevant man with the suit on. They both looked like they had just come from a long hard day at the office.

Harry was upset about it, but he decided that it wasn't  _that_  big of a deal. He decided to make his way around the room for the last few minutes, maybe see if anyone wanted a lap dance or something.

Harry threaded three of his fingers through his hair, combed the curls out and whipped his back. He stepped down from the platform with his hand on the railing. He was a little cold. He was in a tiny pair of shorts with his torso exposed. He hated the cold. 

He moved around the club, touching and winking and teasing whatever guy he could. That was the thing about his job. He had the freedom to choose the men he associated with. It's not like that really mattered. Harry could tell a man on the side of the street that he didn't want to sleep with him, but why would he? As long as it got the job done, what difference did it make whether it was a small dick or a big one? What difference did it make whether that dick was attached to someone handsome or ugly? As long as Harry was getting paid and giving his customers excellent service, things would be alright.

About fifteen minutes later, the bass was still loud, the lights still flashing. Harry was grinding on a faceless male who kept touching his ass when, in the background, he heard an identifiably raspy voice speaking.

It wasn't long before Harry pulled away from the man with the rough hands and turned his head to see Louis.

"Could I steal him for a minute?" Louis asked the man nicely, voice slightly raised to fight the surroundings. Louis was such a happy man, it seemed. Harry looked at him with a million unanswered questions in his eyes.

"Yeah, sure." The man let Louis take Harry by the arm and lead him through the crowd. Harry followed compliantly. He didn't even think about it because Louis wasn't a threat.

Harry stared at Louis as he brought them up to the lounge section where he had been prior. The pole Harry had been dancing on before had his replacement for the night. He could leave whenever he wanted to.

Harry sat on the armrest as Louis sat in the actual chair. It was black and leather and designed for giving and receiving comfortable lap dances. Harry chuckled at the thought.

"There's no way you can afford clubbing every night," Harry said, enjoying the warmth of Louis beside him.

"How do you know what I can and can't afford?" Louis asked, his eyebrows furrowed but a smile on his face.

"From the way you were making it rain with ones over there earlier I'm pretty sure about that,"

Louis laughed. Harry could tell he was slightly tipsy. He had a little glimmer in his eyes that gave him away.

"Not every man in this city can blow their life savings on beautiful strippers, Harry," Louis assured him, patting his bare thigh.

Harry tried to ignore the way his cheeks flushed when Louis called him that.

"You  _really_  think I'm beautiful?" Harry asked, the thumping of the club about as weighted as the palpations of his chest.

"Of course. But you already know that." Louis told him, like he had the first night the two met.

Louis didn't make any sense to him. Louis thought he was attractive. That was a sure thing. Louis had a really awesome time in bed with him. Or at least, that's what Harry presumed. But Louis didn't like to see Harry in that way. He didn't want to touch Harry's body or indulge in his teasing. Harry had never met a man with that type of logic.

"I guess I do." Harry said, remembering that night. Louis started to get up. Harry watched him as he stood and reached behind him to dig in his back pocket for his wallet. Harry looked up at him. 

" _Wait-_ so you think I'm beautiful, but you didn't enjoy my stripping?" Harry asked the man, holding him accountable with one hand on his hip.

"I never said that," Louis told him as he looked through his wallet. Harry peeked a look at his drivers license from where he stood.

"But you didn't like it. Do you think I'm sexy?" Harry asked, forwardly. It was not a directly intentional thing. Harry never meant to appear rash or amorous about everything. He could talk about other things. He could  _do_  other things. He probably offended a lot of people because of his habit to talk about sexual things in such a crude manner. He didn't hold his tongue or think he was doing anything wrong when he did it now. He was ignorant to the value of his words.

"I-I well, I guess," Louis stammered, his cheeks heating up. Harry could see the warmth. He wanted to touch it.

"Then why don't you want to see me strip?" Harry pouted theatrically, his over the top baby eyes and batted eyelashes and protruding lower lip made Louis  _really_  quiet.

Louis hadn't been to a Sunday show since the night of the hotel raffle. Harry knew. He had been looking for Louis.

It was a heavy thing, with the beat of the whole club just pounding like metal. Harry could hardly hear anything besides the whooping and hollering the group of men on the electrified dance floor produced. He couldn't feel anything but the flash of the strobe lights against his corneas.

Louis was slipping his wallet away and staring at Harry with these blue beads. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking. It was strange. Harry could normally tell what a man was thinking when they looked at him. The glint is what gave them away. Harry could see the glint of  _want_  and  _need_  and  _sex_. Harry could lick and pull and bite his bottom lip, the taste of strawberries lingering. The glint would follow. He could touch himself; his hair and his chest and he could trail his fingers into the dips of his jutted collarbones. The glint would follow. Harry could whisper something in that low voice of his, warm breath and short words that were all synonymous to sex.

But Louis didn't have that glint in his eye. Harry couldn't decipher the code that ran through Louis's bloodstream. He couldn't catch on to the thoughts that flooded through his intricate mind. Harry couldn't read him.

That made him feel something strange. Because this way, Harry couldn't control Louis.

"I told you, Harry. It just isn't my thing," Louis said in his defense, clearing his throat.

Harry shook his head at him. He wouldn't accept that. He was the best. He was sexy and beautiful and every man's fantasy. That's who he was trained to be. Harry could do anything and be anyone. He could fulfill the dreams Louis was too scared to admit he had. He knew he could. Harry was a master of the skill and he wasn't about to give up his title for a guy like Louis.

With a sickeningly coquettish smirk, Harry pushed Louis down into the chair and sat down in his lap.

Harry took both of Louis's hands in his and positioned them on his hips. Louis was silent when Harry bit his lip and began grinding down in his lap.

Louis visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watched Harry with dark eyes.

Harry rolled his hips and drove Louis to madness just for the fun of it. He accentuated the beat of the whole club with a pop from his hips. He could tell Louis was enjoying it by the way his eyes dilated, drunken bleariness indicative by the cloud fogging his corneas.

Harry felt high, he tossed his head back, exposing the pale skin of his neck and chest. He grinned slowly, eyes shutting momentarily to savor the heat. He licked his bottom lip as he moved his body, ran his hands up and down his torso. He peered his eyes open gradually, staring straight into Louis's widened eyes as he gave the man the best lap dance he'd ever had in his life.

Harry took hold of Louis's tie and pulled him forward, his hips still in motion."...what about this," Harry asked breathily, leaning a bit to whisper in his ear. It was obvious when Louis shivered, his skin prickling with goosebumps. "Is  _this_  your thing?" The boy smiled wickedly.

It seemed that the whole hoards of people in the club had faded. It was only Harry and Louis. Louis's constant squeeze on his hips like that first night they spent together, the way Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out. He thought hard about the way Louis manhandled him. He allowed himself that fleeting memory of Louis's rough tone commanding him to scream his name. He let those thoughts fog his mind for the ride.

The heat Harry was creating with every grind of his hips made Louis speechless. Harry was turning him on like crazy and there was no hiding it. He only got more insistent, practically just pressing his body to Louis for the jolt of heat. It wasn't even about the beat. The tension between them only grew more uncontrollable when Louis let out a shuddery breath, slouching back against the chair and flexing the fingers that gouged into Harry's soft hips.

Louis was beet red and tongue tied when Harry stood up, flipping his tie over his shoulder with a wink.

Satisfied, Harry silently strutted off into the sea of sweaty bodies, leaving Louis to collect himself.

~ ❁ ~


	14. t h i r t e e n

~ ❁ ~

Harry sat on the bed, a single sheet covering his body. He watched the man sit there beside him, a cigarette between his lips while he stared into the blank space of the room.

Harry ran his hand over the sheet, delicate fingertips feeling the softness of the bleached motel cotton. Into the folds on the wavy material, his fingers danced and pried. He was so cold.

"Did I hurt you?" The man asked, his voice a quiet thing.

Harry turned his head to the man. He noticed the dimness in the man's eyes. He was too far away from Harry to see the color of his eyes but Harry could tell by the shine of them that he was close to tears.

"No." Harry said immediately. He couldn't have one of his customers unsatisfied. His job was not only to offer sex, but it was to make the man feel good. That meant in every aspect of the phrase. If a customer left unhappy the chances were he wouldn't come back again or he would go to someone else for service.

"I know I got a little rough. I'm sorry," he almost whispered.

Harry wasn't going to deny it. He wasn't exactly supposed to enjoy the sex when he was working. It's not like he was paying the customer for a good time. His body was a little sore. He had a few bruises on his soft hips and some bite marks on the side of his neck. Other than that it was pretty normal.

"I'm okay," Harry said just as softly. He thought it was kind of sweet that the man had been concerned. Harry wasn't used to being treated like a human. He was a thing; a possession. He belonged to Liam. And Liam could do with him what he pleased.

"I don't know if you can tell or not but... I've never done... this type of thing before," the man said shakily, taking another drag of his smoke.

Harry blinked and watched the covers shift with the man's subtle movement. He breathed and the sheet rose up and down. Harry scratched the back of his neck and listened as the man spoke.

"No offense to you, I just... I can't believe I'm at this point."

Harry most certainly took some sort of feeling from that statement. It wasn't necessarily offense, but the words didn't make him feel good about himself. His mind kept drifting back to his mother and what she would think of him if she knew he was laying in a bed with a person he didn't even know--what she would  _say_  or how she'd  _feel_  if she knew know her son was whoring.

He twined his fingers in the sheets, watched how his pretty colored nails contrasted with the blank white bed. He listened as the man talked about his family, his wife; how she would be astonished if she knew where he was right now. Harry heard about the man's father, how he was in the hospital with a malignant tumor in his stomach. Harry heard the man cry, how he sniffled and wiped his eyes. Harry heard every word of the man's story up to that day, this morning when he had been fired from his job. Harry frowned. Although he didn't know the man he swallowed hard, a bubble of guilt forming in his gut. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. 

"Do you ever just need to... pause life? That's all I need right now. I need time to stop so I can figure out what direction I'm going," the man spoke as he crushed the remnants of his cigarette into the ash tray on the nightstand.

Harry did feel that way sometimes. He wanted to stop the page of the book the great narrator was on and he wanted to step right out. He wanted to stay out until he collected himself enough to endure the rest. Harry wasn't ready to receive it yet.

But sadly, that wasn't possible. Life had to come and Harry had to take.

"Yeah," Harry sighed as he idly played with the sweaty strands of curls that fell from the top of his head as he looked down. Harry was always looking down.

The man finally got dressed and left after a while. But Harry sat in the hotel room and cried without sound, so sobs or wails escaping him. He stayed there in the absolute depths of despair, water leaking from his eyes.

But it was so strange. He didn't feel sad. He wasn't hurting inside. He didn't feel upset for any reason whatsoever.

That's because Harry couldn't feel those emotions any longer. His mental state had depreciated to such an extent that Harry couldn't physically feel sadness for himself. He couldn't weep over his situation any more.

His body felt the pain his heart was conditioned to ignore.

Harry dressed and left the hotel unsure of whether or not he would ever feel again.

~ ❁ ~

Harry walked into the house and shuddered. The pressure of everything just collapsed on him there.

The house was always as silent as death when Liam was giving a punishment.

He could hear his cacophonous voice booming through the walls and echoing like the crack of lightning in a stormy sky.

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. He didn't want to be in the house whilst such evil enveloped it.

He went to the girls' room where he found Lauren and Joe nestled up together in bed, Joe shushing her and rubbing her back as she cried. Keshia was curled up under a blanket in the corner, eyes wide brimmed with horror. Ira was with Liza and Mariana, folding up clothes on the floor. It was always best to keep busy at times like these.

Harry went to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet under the sink and retrieved the things they would need: the anti-septic solution, cotton balls, the bandages.

He placed them on the counter. He rolled the sleeves of his sweater up and washed his hands with the bar of soap. He could hear the unmistakable sound of violent smacking coming from down the hall, but he didn't waver. He just got everything ready for when Liam was finished with her.

Harry turned out the bathroom light and returned to the girls' room. He sat on the floor with Liza and the others. None of them spoke. They just worked together, folding laundry they would otherwise leave thrown around the room.

Harry wouldn't admit it. The girls wouldn't admit it either, but they were all glad to have each other. At times like these, Harry would be even more of a wreck if he had to face Liam alone. They all needed each other to survive. It was the only support they had; it's what kept them human.

Keshia crawled over to where the older girls sat and sat beside Harry. She looked at them and with her eyes, silently asked if she could help.

Harry smiled at her, handed her a dish towel to fold. The youngest girl sat close to him, so close he could feel the warmth of her body. It provided some calming effect on him.

He knew the two of them would be close. He could tell from the moment he saw her. She trusted him. Harry would never be able to reconcile for the pain he would have to put her through.

"Get that bitch outta my fucking face," Liam slurred, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Harry heard a thump against the floorboards, the the slam of the door in the hallway and he got up immediately.

Keshia looked up at him as he and the other girls stood and left the room.

"Stay here," Harry whispered to her, before she went to stand. Keshia nodded and obeyed. She sat there and continued to fold up the clothes and towels in the quiet.

Harry closed the door behind him. He didn't want to expose the girl to such trauma just yet.

Sandra was motionless. She laid in the hallway face first, her naked body covered in scrapes and bruises. Mariana and Liza helped her up and took her into the bathroom.

The girl was completely knocked out. Harry hoped she wasn't concussed. Ira ran a bath for her and Mariana started checking her body for particularly bad lacerations.

It was never easy to deal with the aftermath of Liam's punishments. Harry felt so guilty. He felt like maybe this could have been prevented if he had been here. Maybe he could have stood between Sandra and Liam. It was just what they all felt naturally. At this point, Harry felt partly responsible when one of his sisters had to face the beast alone.

It took no time at all when they all helped. Ira had washed Liam off of her completely. Liza gathered some clothes for her and dressed her. Mariana and Harry both cleaned her wounds, wrapped them up well enough to heal in no time.

Harry was the strongest of them, so he carried Sandra to one of the beds in the girls' room. He laid her down gently, watching as her soft brown hair fanned out against the pillow.

He stood back as Ira tucked her in. 

They sat down with Keshia and she eyed Sandra's body with horror in her eyes. It was a lump under the covers. By the look on her face, Harry briefly wondered if Keshia thought the girl was dead.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Keisha asked Harry, her hushed voice lower than Harry had expected to hear from an adolescent girl.

Harry turned to her. "She'll be fine," he said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"Are you sure?"

Harry smiled at her. He didn't want the girl worrying about something like Liam's punishments so soon. That wasn't even the worst part about their life.

"I promise," Harry said to the girl.

In truth, Harry didn't know. He never knew when Liam would go too far. Sandra wasn't okay. None of them were  _really_  okay. They stopped worrying about their well-beings so long ago Harry doesn't even remember a time when they did. In all honesty, he had no clue. Harry really should have learned to stop making promises he couldn't ensure. 

~ ❁ ~


	15. f o u r t e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so self conscious about the whole Louis x Harry thing in this chapter.

~ ❁ ~

The next day, they all took turns looking after Sandra. They hadn't gotten a single blink of sleep the previous night but it was worth it. When she woke up, Sandra sobbed into Harry's arms and he and Ira told her not to fret and that she would feel better soon. Both of them had their fair share of the beast and were no longer frightened by his malevolence.

Niall brought Sandra water and painkillers. He gave her clothes back to her and although it wasn't quite as apology, Harry felt that it was something.

It was noon and Sandra was napping, so the others decided to take their mind off the girl for a little bit.

Harry sat with Keshia on the living room floor, braiding her soft curly hair.

"It must be hard to manage," Harry commented as he touched the little spirals. Keshia smiled from where she sat in front of him, looking through his bag of nail polish. Harry had lots of different colors and he thought it would be fun for her to look through them and find some she liked so he could paint her nails. It was a good way to ease the tension in the house.

"It's alright. If I just brush it out it's not that bad," the girl said over the sound of the tiny glass bottles clacking together.

"How old are you?" Harry asked.

"Thirteen," Keisha replied. Harry peeked around her to see the blues and greens she picked out for her nails.

"You seem older," Harry responded. He really liked Keshia for some reason. She was more than just pretty. She was shy and sweet. Lauren and Keshia got along well, simply because of their gentle nature. They were both mature for their ages.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Keshia looked up at him when he was concentrating, tongue poking from the side of his lip as he dragged the brush over her index nail.

He held her small brown hand in his big white one, intricately painting each nail. He painted every other nail. Keshia wanted her even digits on her left hand to be blue, and then green on the other.

"Sure," Harry nodded as he adjusted. He sat on a pillow in front of her, his back aching as he leaned over to accommodate for her height.

"Why do you dress like a girl?"

Taken aback, Harry chuckled. He capped the sky blue polish and told her to blow on her nails while waiting.

"You got a problem with that?" Harry pretended to be offended, staring her down.

"No, no! I just... " she stammered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I'm kidding," he assured her with a dimpled smile.

"Oh okay. I mean... most boys dress like... boys," she murmured.

Harry started on the other hand this time, painted slowly, avoiding mistakes.

"It's fine." Harry said. Today Harry was wearing a pair of skin tight jeans and someone else's blouse. He didn't mind wearing girl clothes most of the time because that's what there was the most of in the house. Harry wasn't going to tell her that Liam liked him better when he dressed up as a girl. He wasn't going to say that he got more business when he was in a short skirt flashing his ass for cash. He wasn't going to tell her the truth.

Harry did to an extent like girl clothes. He likes girly things in general. At times he felt pretty when he painted his nails and put blush on his cheeks. He didn't like it all the time. It was only on certain days; good days. He liked to wear lipgloss rather than lipstick. He liked pink better than red. He liked soft and and delicate rather than tight and revealing.

"I don't know, I just... It makes me feel good about myself, I guess. I've always liked makeup and stuff. It's fun to put outfits together and to try new things." Harry told her.

"So are you like... gay?" The timid girl looked up, too afraid to offend him.

"Yeah. I am," Harry clarified for her.

"That's cool,"

Harry looked up, flashing her a quick smile.

"Can I braid your hair next? When my nails dry?" Keshia asked, her brown eyes hugely hopeful.

Harry screwed the cap on the green polish bottle as the girl started waving her hands back and forth.

"Sure," Harry laughed.

His heart felt warm.

~ ❁ ~

"Nice hair," Harry startled, jumping forward when he heard the voice at directed at him.

He had been on edge since he left the house. He snuck out to the store to get some more dressing for Sandra. Liam was making her work tonight and he wanted to make sure the girl was feeling her best and wouldn't get infected. He wasn't allowed to go out without letting someone know. He was breaking the rules and could very well be punished as a result.

"Shit-" he slurred. Louis stood behind him with a grocery basket on his arm. He had sweats on and he looked as if he had just tumbled out of the dryer; warm and cozy.

"Did I scare you?" Louis asked, brushing the fringe from his forehead with his hand.

"A little," Harry looked around them before leaning closer to whisper.  
"...are you stalking me?"

"Excuse me, Harry, some of us have to eat too," Louis said, gesturing to the pears and eggs and chicken breasts in his basket.

Harry frowned. It couldn't just be coincidence that Louis would show up, yet again, in his life. It wouldn't have been the first time a guy started following him around after they fucked. Harry had, in many cases, sent Liam after them.

"Anyway. I just complimented your awful hairstyle," Louis said, eyes scrolling over the mess atop his head.

Keshia had braided it all over the place and although it wasn't perfect, Harry happened to be very fond of her work.

"Um... it's a lot better than your greasy hair," Harry pulled a face at him, offended.

"How?" Louis reached his hand up to touch the soft brown strands. It wasn't greasy at all. Harry just didn't like Louis.

"Maybe you should wash it," Harry said, turning to continue looking at the different types of bandages.

"Whatever," Louis huffed, nudging him aside to nosily look at what he was doing. "Why do you need 'twelve-ply sterile gauze pads'?" Louis read from the box in Harry's hands.

"None of your business, that's why," Harry grumbled.

"Well that's rude," Louis said.

"Doesn't matter. Why are you speaking to me?" Harry asked absentmindedly. His eyes scrolled down the shelf in search of the same brand of ointment they usually bought.

"Because," Louis sighed. "You need to be spoken to,"

Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed. He didn't know why he tolerated Louis's presence. The man just seemed to show up at all the wrong times. Well, every time Louis was around Harry it felt like the wrong time.

"I can tell your not a very social person," Louis commented.

Harry was so sick of people.  
"How?" Harry turned around, folded his arms over his chest.

"Because you won't even look at me when I'm talking to you..." Louis said slowly, gesturing to his point with his hand.

"That's because you're fucking bothering me," Harry jeered, stepping closer to Louis.

"I'm sorry," Louis said.

Harry just looked down at the man, eyeing him thoroughly.

"But, I'm not sorry you have no control over your emotions,"

"What do you know?" Harry frowned.

"I know your unstable. I can see that,"

Harry just didn't like being judged. He absolutely hated people like Louis. He didn't know anything and he was acting like he knew everything

"Fuck off," Harry snapped.

"Hostile, okay. I just made a general statement," Louis defended himself.

"I hate people like you. You're rude and judgmental. And you don't even know what your talking about," Harry fought back, giving Louis a pointed look. He happened to think he was very well put for his situation. Hearing Louis step on that pissed him off in all the right ways.

"Well at least you're giving me the light of day now." Louis said, irritatedly. "I'm rude. You wouldn't even give me eye contact before."

"Are you trying to get my attention or something?" Harry asked, apprehensively. He didn't particularly like men who followed him around. It made him uncomfortable.

"I saw you and wanted to day hi, Harry. Jesus, I didn't think it would be such a big deal for you," Louis breathed, exasperated. Harry didn't believe him.

"Well, I just don't understand how you  _always_  show up everywhere I go." Harry counterclaimed.

"Do I really show up  _everywhere_  you go? You must not get out much, then," The man shook his head at him.

Harry seethed. He hated guys like Louis so much and he just wanted the man to leave him alone. They weren't friends. They most certainly weren't acquaintances. Louis was just another one of those men. It was that simple. He had to get Louis away from him. So he tried the only thing left he could think of. 

"I hate you," Harry growled, staring straight into Louis's equally fire blazed eyes. All went silent after that.

He didn't even realize how close they had gotten until Louis was pushing him back against the shelf, looking straight into his eyes.

He gasped in surprise, closing his eyes when he felt Louis drop the basket by their feet.

Then, Louis was grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him hard. Harry was so caught off guard. He hadn't expected Louis to kiss him. They were in a public place. Not only that, but they'd been arguing. Harry couldn't even remember what of. At that point it just seemed like pointless banter anyway.

He let himself drift. He made a stupid subconscious decision not to push Louis away. Harry hadn't ever been kissed so fiercely before. The rush of the surprise paired with the high of their dispute made him so hot. Harry grasped little flecks of consciousness but for the most part he was out of it. He knew they were in a grocery store. He knew it was a family establishment. He knew he hated Louis with a raging passion. Harry knew he wasn't supposed to be out and that if he wasn't back before Liam he was going to be in for a world of trouble.

Harry gulped, his eyes slowly opening when Louis pulled back. Harry was gripping him with an intense force. He could see his pretty nails making pink crescents on Louis's arm. He had meant to shove Louis away and maybe yell at him some more, but none of that really happened.

Harry just stood there speechless. Louis was staring at him, blinking occasionally as his eyes scanned Harry's facial expression.

"I wonder if you can even feel how turned on you are," Louis whispered to him. He turned his head, looking away from the man. His eyelashes fluttered. He knew how embarrassing it would be for someone to come around the corner and see them tangled up together. "Because I certainly can,"

Sure enough, there was an evident bulge constrained under his jeans. Louis released his hold on the boy and Harry adjusted himself at the crotch. He was pink in the cheeks because he felt humiliated. Louis wasn't suppose to get the upper hand here but Harry couldn't help it. He most definitely could not control Louis. Louis not only got Harry hot, but he got him hard. Harry didn't even know why.   
It was embarrassing.

He didn't say anything. Louis took out his wallet like he had a night ago. He took out a tiny piece of paper. Harry swallowed hard when Louis stared right into his eyes as he gripped his hips and yanked him forward, so he could slip the paper deep into Harry's back pocket.

Harry let him do it. He bitterly kept his mouth shut as Louis pulled away.

"Looks like your all bark and no bite," Louis chuckled at him, flipping his hair, smirking as he retrieved his groceries before striding away calmly.

Harry didn't have the energy to process what just happened.

~ ❁ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wasn't too bad was it?  
> Idek


	16. f i f t e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quite a short chapter but important stuff mentioned I guess

~ ❁ ~ 

Harry slipped into the house with seven minutes to spare. He and Liza helped change Sandra's bandages. Lauren had cooked something for dinner for once. It was a rarity to have a home cooked meal with the way their schedules were. It wasn't like they were an actual family or anything. They ate what was around. Harry was certain all of them at one point resorted to eating food out of the garbage before Liam so graciously took them in.

They all got themselves a hot plate of spaghetti and tomato sauce and then went into the girls' room to eat with Sandra. She was resting in bed all day because Liam wasn't going to cut her any slack. She was making the most of the day before he came home and made them all go out on the street. 

"You feel better, at least?" Lauren asked the abused girl. Sandra had a busted lip and some cuts on her face. They other couldn't even have a conversation with her without being reminded of what Liam's harsh hands had done.

"Yeah. I little feel sick, though," the seventeen year old swallowed a bite of her meal, then placed her hand over her mouth.

"Are you gonna throw up?" Joe asked worriedly from where she sat on the floor with her back to the bed.

"No, no. Nothing like that." She assured them. Harry sat beside Mariana and Keshia, silently eating his meal.

"Oh-" Lauren whimpered, placing her hand over her fat belly. Joe spun around immediately, nearly breaking her neck to make sure the girl was alright.

Harry eyed them. It was getting closer and closer to Lauren's due date and Harry wasn't sure if a resolution had been reached or not. It was obvious that Lauren had to give the child up. It wasn't debatable. Harry feared for them.

"You alright?" Mari asked from beside Harry. She sat on the bed holding her red stained plastic fork to her lips.

"I'm okay. She's just... kicking away," Lauren smiled, looking up at her girlfriend. The two of them shared a private moment, feeling her tummy where the child inside was moving around. Joe chuckled and sat on the bed next to her.

Harry never quite comprehended their love for one another. Joe had been a handful when she first got there. She hated everything and everyone. She made the most cash for a long time. Liam loathed her attitude but he kept his mouth shut because she brought home a ton of cash. She was a great hooker. Secretly, she hated that she had to bed men when all she wanted was a woman.

Then, Lauren came. Harry spent a lot of time with the girl when she first got there. He had to. Liam trusted him to do the job and he did it well. Joe hated Harry for that. She never admitted it at the time, but she was extremely jealous. Once Joe had the courage to get close to Lauren Harry agreed never to interfere again. He didn't want to be the one held accountable for the inevitability of their circumstances. It wasn't his fault. Yet, Joe blamed him for every little thing that went wrong.

Lauren and Joe grew so close. Despite everything, their love flourished in the gloomiest of places. It was like a beautiful flower blossoming in the darkness. Lauren would crawl into bed next to Joe on bad days, when the men really hurt her or treated her poorly. Joe would whisper the words of comfort and assurance to the girl, kissing the salty streaks from her cheeks. The two balanced each other out. Joe was there to lift Lauren's spirits when she was in an abyss of sorrow. Lauren was there to calm Joe down when she was seething about Liam.

Harry always wondered whether love existed or not. It was hard not to see it when he had those two to show him each day. 

"Are you keeping her?" Keshia asked innocently from beside Harry. Harry assumed from the shocked looks on everyone else's faces that Lauren had only shared their secret with him.

Harry looked at Mariana and saw her jaw dropped when Lauren didn't immediately deny it.

"Wait... _what_?" Sandra asked from beside the couple.

Lauren blushed and dropped her head.  
Joe rubbed her back and addressed the others.

"We are." Joe clarified.

Keshia lit up beside Harry. She turned to him and he gave her a small smile just to reciprocate. He kept his mouth shut. He didn't want anything to be too real right now. It was already going to be a long night and he didn't feel like arguing with anyone else today.

Ira remained silent. She fiddled with the plate of food in her hands and she didn't speak.

~ ❁ ~

"Your awfully quiet," Mari said, scooting in next to Harry as he applied his mascara.

He gave her a quick look and then went back to what he was doing.

"You okay?" She asked as she pulled her skin tight sheer top over her torso, straightening it out over the bump of her boobs.

Harry put on some lipstick and fluffed his curls out.

"I'm good." He said, looking at himself in the mirror. The other girls were in their room, helping Sandra get ready. Harry thought it was cruel of Liam to make her work tonight, but, no one asked his opinion.

"Could you zip my dress up?" He asked Mariana, evading her question.

She moved around the room to where he stood in front of the mirror. She already had her heels and her skirt on, so she was as tall as he was and didn't have any trouble reaching the back of his dress.

Harry held his hair out of the way and waited as Mari looked for the zipper.

"You know," she started with a sigh. "I think about Lauren and Joe a lot. When I'm out working or just here chilling or whatever,"

Harry stared at the floor as she spoke.  
"They just want to be happy, you know? Everything is going against them and they're still fighting," Mari zipped up the dress and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder before walking around the bed to the closet on the other side of the room.

Harry sat down on the side of the bed and rolled his stockings up his legs.

"Hey, Mari," he exhaled, tiredly.

"What's up?" She asked, as she hung up the outfit she hadn't decided to wear tonight. She was probably the only girl who cared so much about her things that she wanted to keep them nice.

"Can you get my jeans from over there," Harry asked, combing his hand through his hair.

Mari quickly got the pile of his clothes from off the floor and brought it to him. He thanked her and she sat next to him, both of them dressed and ready to go.

He pulled the tiny business card from out of his back pocket and showed the girl the phone number and address written on the back.

"What's this?" She asked, pursing her glossy lips.

"It's...this guy, I met..." Harry mumbled, shyly.

"He gave you his number?" Mariana inquired, giving him a proud smile.

Harry nodded. He blushed as he told Mari about how awful he was. Harry told her about the wonderful sex they had and how Harry had done the worst thing a whore could do to a customer. He hadn't told Louis he was one. He told Mari about how Liam came and forced the money from Louis and how even after that, Louis kept coming back week after week to see him at the club. Harry told her that he really wanted to go to Louis's place and he really wanted to get fucked. He blushed because he felt ashamed about it.

Harry didn't normally tell any of the girls how he felt about things. He didn't talk about his pains. He didn't want them to judge him. Which was kind of ridiculous in theory. He didn't know. His brain was weird.

But once Harry started talking to Mari that evening, it was like he couldn't stop.

"Was it good?" She asked, her hazel eyes bright.

"It was so good. He was rough with me... but at the same time, he was so gentle. Like, I can't even explain how great it was," Harry said excitedly. Mari supported him in every way. She smiled and nodded and listened so well.

"You should go see him," Mari suggested.

The grin Harry wore gradually wiped off of his face. He was frowning pretty soon, thinking about what Louis  _had_   _done_  to him, and what Liam  _would do_  to him if he found out he wanted to have sex for free.

"I can't," Harry mumbled, chewing his bottom lip.

"Sure you can," she told him, enthusiastically.

Harry looked over to her, distressed.  
"No, I can't. Liam would kill me,"

"Don't--think about Liam. What do  _you_  want?" Mari asked, her shapely eyebrow quirked up.

Harry knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Louis to take him away for a night. He wanted that man he hated to strip him of everything and fuck him into the mattress so hard he cried afterwards. He wanted to feel good for a change. He wanted to be allowed to finish. He wanted to be treated well for once in his life. All he wanted was to feel satisfied, like he never would with anyone else.

"I want to see him," Harry sighed.

Mariana smiled at him. 

"Then I'll help you out." 

~ ❁ ~


	17. s i x t e e n

~ ❁ ~ 

Harry took a bus into the city. He got off at the stop, several blocks away from the apartment complex. He looked both ways before crossing the street. He pulled the lapels of his coat to his body, anxiously looking around. He knew no one was following him. He knew no one knew where or why he was going. He knew he was safe.

 _For now,_ he thought.

Of course, he had second thoughts. He wasn't sure whether this was the best idea.

Mariana had promised to help him out the past week. They both worked their pretty asses off and made a lot more than they were supposed to. Harry knew it was a huge risk to hide money from Liam. Liam gave the worst punishments when he found out one of the girls was stealing from him.

But Harry needed this. He deserved a night off, Mari had convinced him.

So Thursday evening, Harry snuck away.

He really never thought he would come into contact with that tall apartment building again. He never expected to seek his only salvation behind it's doors.

Harry clutched his bag to his front as he stepped out of the elevator. His eyes scrolled the silver plates of the doors all along the hallway. He watched the numbers move as he walked.

When he reached the door he just stood there thinking. He thought about everything, it seemed. He considered his options. He could knock on the door. Louis could answer and let him in. Harry could have something real; something he was so deprived of. Savor gentle, precious human touch. He wanted contact. Harry wanted Louis to give him that. Harry wanted  _someone_  to give him that.

He thought about Liam. He thought about what Liam would do to him if he found out. He thought about how hard Mariana had worked in order for him to be able to come here tonight. He thought about how selfish he was. He thought about turning around and going back home because he was putting a lot out on the line.

Against his better judgement, he squeezed his hand into a fist and reached his knuckles up to the door. He knocked three times, shivering, although the complex was toasty warm.

He felt like he'd stood at the door for so long when in reality it had only been about thirty seconds. He began to wonder if maybe Louis wasn't home.

His fingers squeezed around the handle of his purse. He felt so on edge. His hands were clammy and his cheeks were flushed. He didn't even know what he expected by coming here. He didn't know whether or not this would work. Harry worried that Liam was going to come lurking out of the shadows and find him, grab him, drag him back home. He felt like Liam was everywhere and his presence loomed over everything he did.

Harry gulped when he heard the lock click and the knob turn. He stood there silently as Louis pulled the door open.

Their eyes met, and that's when Harry felt all his fears evaporate.

"Hey," Louis greeted him. Harry had foreboded a snarky comment of some sort. He expected Louis to laugh at him, or maybe tell him he didn't really want Harry to come. He awaited judgements and scoffing and pity.

But Louis didn't give him any of that.

He invited Harry in and took his coat and his bag. He placed them on the couch, safely for easy retrieval.

Louis offered him a drink and Harry politely declined. There were no jokes or spouts of nonsense. Louis was still in his work clothes, tie loose with his sleeves rolled up. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off him. Louis was clean shaven, serious, and had this sedating effect on Harry when he looked into his eyes.

Harry most certainly wasn't expecting Louis to touch him so feverishly. The man gripped Harry's arm, pulled him closer.

He placed one hand on Harry's face and gave him a soft look. His eyes were the ocean, cool and calm, yet fierce and strong. He held nothing but passion in his heart. Harry could feel it.

Louis didn't speak. Harry didn't speak. Harry didn't explain why he had come. Louis didn't ask.

It didn't feel necessary. Harry knew what he wanted. Words were needless. Louis seemed to understand that. With Louis, Harry didn't feel ashamed for wanting what he did. He could tell Louis was in another headspace entirely anyway.

Harry glanced around the clean apartment and felt out of place with Louis. Harry felt like it was absurd to think that Louis would want him. Of all the hot males in the club, Louis would chose a dirty whore. Louis had won such a awful prize, a broken toy.

He didn't understand the dynamic between them not one bit, but at the same time, he felt that there was no harm in wanting something different. With Louis here, in the moment, Harry didn't feel embarrassed at all.

Louis took Harry to his bed. Harry stopped feeling shy about his body ages ago. He was used to being naked in front of strangers. It was a part of daily life for him. So he wasn't sure why he felt a blush rise to his cheeks when he pulled his shirt over his head. He held the shirt in his hands for a moment, staring at the cotton material as a distraction to Louis's gaze.

Louis took the shirt from him and dropped it to the floor. Harry mustered up the courage to look Louis in the eye and he regretted it. Louis was staring back like a hungry lion, anxious and impatient.

Louis stood up and over him. Harry sat there as the man popped the buttons of his shirt open, one by one, ocean blue burning holes into Harry. He gulped. He was so hot already and Louis hadn't even touched him yet.

He watched as Louis undressed himself, eyes glaring over every bit of him as it was revealed. Louis removed his shirt, then his pants. His tie and socks laid in a heap beside the bed. Harry nibbled his lower lip as Louis stripped himself of his briefs and then he was naked. He stood there shamelessly boring into Harry's eyes with a smirk on his face. Harry found himself staring at Louis's tan torso, the smooth skin taut and firm. His eyes scrolled over Louis's ass and his strong thighs. Harry was practically drooling, he was so turned on.

Louis sat back on the bed and pulled Harry close again. Harry closed his eyes as Louis placed a warm hand on his naked back, soft skin reacting to the unfamiliarly affectionate touch. Harry made a little noise of content in his throat when Louis brought him in and kissed him passionately. Louis kissed him that way for a little bit, giving Harry short, eager pecks, pulling back to look in his eyes and to tuck some of his long over grown hair begin his ear. Louis didn't open his mouth to utter a word of anything. He didn't have to. Harry was pretty sure he understood.

Harry felt Louis's hands working his jeans down. He wasn't wearing any boxers on underneath and Louis smiled into the next kiss once he discovered that.

The kissing wasn't fast or desperate. It was slow, hot, intimate kissing. Louis climbed on top of Harry, pressed his body into the mattress with his own. Louis placed both his hands on Harry's face and pulled him in again and again, like he couldn't get enough of his lips. Harry's eyelashes fluttered shut as Louis moaned into his mouth, the vibrations transferring to him. He felt Louis's hard length against his hip as the kissing grew more heated, their wet tongues sliding together and lips bruised red.

Harry wasn't used to the softness. Louis's bed was big and smooth and smelled like fresh laundry. Louis's home had the aroma of pumpkin spice air fresheners. Louis smelled like a man; a day's musk and his sweet cologne. His hot skin was flush against Harry and the boy couldn't help but moan at just the aura of the room.

Harry wanted this. God, Harry  _needed_  this so badly.

With both of them naked and making out in Louis's bed, Harry knew what was next.

Louis pulled away, his lips glossy with their swapped saliva. He stared at Harry for a moment, just breathing out and in.

Harry thought that maybe Louis was about to say something from the way he was gazing at him with starry eyes. But Louis didn't speak.

He reached over to his nightstand, separated their tightly bound bodies for a short moment before returning.

Louis smoothed his palm over Harry's abdomen, giving him a tender look. Harry looked away, bashfully. Louis grabbed the bottle of lube from where it rested atop the mattress. He took it in his hands and looked at Harry for what felt like forever.

Louis's strong hands guided him into the position he wanted him to be in. Harry enjoyed the firm control Louis held. He liked the fact that Louis could get him to do things no one else could. Harry liked everything about the way Louis touched his body.

Louis seemed to like Harry on his front, so that's how he laid. He didn't mind it. Half of tonight was mainly so that Harry could be manhandled by Louis and if that was the way the older man wanted it, Harry was more than content to oblige.

Harry tried his best not to rut against the mattress. Louis was taking so long. He held the boy steady with a hand on his hip, pulling him back as he delved two of his fingers into Harry.

Harry tried not to jitter. He breathed heavily, his chest expanding.

Louis kissed his back, all along the base of his spine he felt the tenderness spread. Harry closed his eyes as Louis worked his fingers in and out, scissoring them and pressing in deeper.

Harry wasn't always prepared so thoroughly before getting fucked. He sometimes had to deal with the pain. Harry hated it, but he couldn't complain to anyone. It's not like anyone would listen if he did. He tried to prepare himself every night he had to hustle but he didn't always have the time.

To have Louis taking so much of his time to make sure he was well prepared made Harry feel so warm inside. It wasn't just the arousal. It was something much more intense fluttering to life in his chest.

Louis made sure he was stretched and that his knuckles grazed his prostate ever so slightly to make him keen. Harry laid still as Louis slowly eased his fingers from out of his hole, the muscle clenching in response.

Louis kissed along his spine, fingers gripping his sides tightly as he worked his lips up to smooth plane. Harry felt Louis there, his warm breath and his hot lips and his gentleness. All of it was so overwhelming. Harry wanted to cry about how good it felt.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the sheets as Louis positioned himself behind him. He bit down onto his lip in anticipation. The throbbing head of Louis's dick nudged against his rim and he breathed in sharply. He was so tired of waiting.

Louis eased in slowly, feeding him the thick length. It wasn't any easier for Harry to take Louis's cock. It was still big and it was still firm and it still made him feel like he was being stuffed. He moaned as he tightened his grip on the sheets, crying out into the apartment.

Louis kissed the back of his neck, nose nuzzling into the dark curls. Harry whimpered and rocked back a little, gradually taking more and more.

Louis helped Harry through it. He ran his hands all over Harry's body and kissed over his shoulder blades. Harry eventually let himself go. He wasn't fighting it. He didn't have to. He was free to express how he felt because Louis would listen to him. Louis would honestly stop if it were hurting Harry. Louis valued Harry's feelings and would respect them accordingly. The trust is what turned Harry on more than any of the other factors. Trust was key. He couldn't count on any one else for that.

When Harry adjusted, Louis began to move. Louis had all the control, but he didn't saw into him right away. He had himself in check and could concentrate on more than one thing at a time. Harry loved every moment and he never wanted it to end.

Louis retracted, before gliding back in smoothly, bruising Harry's hips with his strong grasp. Harry whimpered. With every jolt his body melted further and further into the big bed. He moaned softly, his fingers twisting in the sheets. The friction created from being pounded into the mattress made his own dick burn with the sensation.

Gradually, Louis worked him up. He pushed in, gripped his sides and squeezed down, before pulling out and slamming back in. The rhythm was unpredictable and Harry felt his pulse spike as Louis's cock jabbed right into his sweet spot.

Harry reached his hand up behind him, gripped Louis's back as he moaned for it, urging him, guiding him forward so he would never leave his body. Harry wanted to feel Louis everywhere, all the time.

He heard the echo of his wrecked sobs and couldn't believe that was actually him. He tried not to be too loud during sex. When he had sex with Liam he was to put on a show. When he had sex with his customers he had to please them. Personally, Harry never liked hollering out because of how slutty it made him sound. He was already a whore and he didn't particularly need any more reminders of that.

God, but with  _Louis_.

Harry felt no shame whatsoever. Louis gripped his hair and pulled softly as he fucked him. Harry screamed and writhed as Louis licked along the column of his neck, hips flicking faster.

He grunted as he took it, his whole body shaken with tremors. His body ached with need. He was overcome by want. He was engulfed by Louis and he would receive all of it.

Harry could feel it when Louis was close. He was expecting Louis to keep going and finish, to come inside of him.

Instead, Louis pulled out completely. Harry was a flushed and sweaty mess. He confusedly glanced behind at Louis, and found the older man just as much of a mess as he was. With blushing cheeks, hair flopped in all directions and eyes glazed, Louis grasped Harry's hips. He weakly complied as Louis pushed him over onto his back and helped spread his legs apart.

Harry didn't even have a moment to collect himself. He hadn't even taken the time to figure out what Louis was doing before the man was placing his hands on each of Harry's ankles. Harry just gaped when Louis hitched them up onto his shoulders and pressed in close.

He closed his eyes as Louis pushed back into him, his back arching as Louis's cock slid right over his prostate. This new position was perfect for the way Harry wanted it. He grappled onto a fistful of sheets by his head as Louis started grinding his hips back in.

He couldn't help himself. He physically could not stop his vocal chords from crying out to the heavens all the glory Louis was blessing him with. Harry felt everything so perfectly and the nice, smooth strokes Louis used to stimulate the place in which he felt it most just made him want to burst.

Harry stared as Louis worked in and out of him. Louis bit his lip as he fucked him, eyes focusing in on Harry. The boy whined and threw his head back, unable to look at Louis when such fire blazed in his eyes.

It was irony, and it tasted so bittersweet. Harry, a whore, pleasure overtaking him to such an extent that he was moaning out into the dead space. The situation was nonsense. Harry had sex every single day- he communicated through it, but Louis made him forget that. Louis reminded him how amazing getting a good fuck could be, why people payed for hookers and sex toys and why people watched porn and why he took his clothes off in front of old men. Harry knew there was some hype about the sensory stimulation, that made them  _wild_ \--turned man into beast. He couldn't fathom that feeling. He was ignorant to it. Harry had never had a man take care of him this way before. It made him about as good as a drunk; a dazed slut having sex for the first time.

Harry's hips ached a little with the way his knees were being pushed into his chest. He sobbed brokenly, his voice cracking as Louis just kept going, in and out; over and over and over again.

Harry felt his body growing weary. He closed his eyes and just concentrated on the way Louis was making him feel. All he could do was groan weakly as Louis loomed over him.

The pleasure was so immense. He had never had such an experience before. It was by far the best sex he ever had in his life. And as Louis made those last few strokes into him, his hips rolling as he worked him over the edge. Harry knew for sure he would never be the same.

Harry came so hard he shook with it. His eyelids twitched shut and his fingers grasped the sheets and he moaned Louis's name so loudly he heard his voice resonating through the apartment.

Louis fucked him hard after that, chasing his own temporary satisfaction. His orgasm was just as relieving.

Harry could only comprehend the ringing in his head as Louis pulled out and collapsed onto him. Louis gathered him up in his arms Harry hummed as Louis's arms engulfed him, wrapped him up in a hot pile of skin and bed sheets.

Harry deeply exhaled. He felt free to breathe. He could forget that he was chained up, when his lungs expanded, because he was allowed to inhale afterwards.

He squeezed his arms around Louis's bare torso, laid there with the older man. He felt safe in Louis's arms. He felt like the man could protect him from every threat. Harry knew that wasn't true. But he let himself dream. It was the one night he would allow himself such a fantasy.

The bed was hot and their skin was slick with sweat and come.

Harry didn't mind. He couldn't. Mentally, he couldn't process anything. He could only breath and stare at the ceiling as Louis held him.

He felt Louis's lips pressing to his cheek. He felt Louis shifting, pulling back to comb the strewn curls from his face.

Louis hummed and rubbed his palm over Harry's chest, kissing his temple and nestling in close.

Harry didn't know what was going through Louis's head. He had no clue. Harry knew he had just had some amazing sex with a phenomenal man. Harry knew he was tired. He knew he was hungry. He knew what would probably happen to him when he got back home and he sorta wished he had taken Louis's offer for a drink earlier in the night.

Louis didn't say a word. They laid together with the sheets tangled up around them.

Harry didn't know whether Louis wasn't satisfied or whether or not he liked it the second time. Harry felt like maybe Louis wasn't speaking because he was disappointed and didn't know how to ask Harry to leave politely. Clearly that wasn't it, though. Louis seemed happy enough, content.

Harry inhaled. The air smelled like sex, but it didn't make Harry nauseous like when he laid with other men. It didn't make Harry feel dirty or embarrassed.

It made Harry feel happy because he and Louis just did something good-  _great_  even. He wasn't hurting or crying or curling up under the sheets alone. Harry wasn't sad because Louis wouldn't allow it. He was holding Harry to his chest, stroking a hand down his back tenderly. Harry didn't feel like a rent boy when he was with Louis. He felt human.

Harry didn't even realize how long they had laid there together until he caught a glimpse of the digital alarm clock on Louis's night table.

 _Midnight_.

He gasped and sat upright, clutching the sheet to his chest.

"I have to go," Harry mumbled, frantically searching around the room for his clothes. He sprung up and picked through the piles on the floor for his jeans and shirt.

Louis got up and slipped on his own boxers as Harry dressed. He stood by, arms folded over his chest as Harry yanked up his ridiculously tight jeans and buttoned them at the top.

Louis offered to walk Harry to the front, but the boy hastily declined. He put on his coat and picked up his bag before escaping Louis's shiny blue oceans.

As Harry left the building there was a nagging thought in his head that his decision to come back to that complex was the beginning of something unstoppable. It was his first taste of a lethal drug. It was a single toxin that triggered an addiction.

It was stupid of him.

But this time, Harry realized that he really didn't give a fuck.

~ ❁ ~


	18. s e v e n t e e n

~ ❁ ~

' _Dear Momma,_

_Happy Birthday. I'm sorry I'm sending this late. I hope I didn't miss it. I hope you had a nice birthday. I remember when I was little and you used to take me to the movies for my birthday. I always picked flowers and bought you chocolates and made a card from printer paper with my crayons for you on your birthday. I think about those years a lot. I hope every birthday you've had since my absence was even more wonderful than the last. I wish you many more._

_I haven't had much time to write these past weeks. I want you to know that each time I write you a letter, it's what I feel is the best out of five or six tries. It has to be perfect. I take the things I tell you very seriously as it is the only semblance of home I have left._

_But I don't really know what to say. I don't know how I feel. I've been feeling strange lately and I can't explain it. I think about you a lot. I try to remember your smile. It helps me feel better._

_I feel like it's getting harder and harder to write to you and tell you that everything is okay. It's never been easy to lie to you. It's probably the hardest thing I ever had to do and I've done a lot of things I regret. I'm not okay, Momma. I miss you more than I ever thought possible. I don't think any amount of apologies could cover the damage._

_I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I lied. I've lied for so long; years, it's been. I want nothing more than to come home. I regret the pain I know I put you through. I regret the stupid decisions I made. I regret all of it._

_I can't lie to myself anymore._  
 _And_   _I won't lie to you anymore._

_I try so hard each day not to be scared. I know I'm strong. I know I can get through most anything. I've survived everything so far. It's just that ever since I left, I've felt worse and worse. I must have thought running away would give me freedom. I was a teenager; I was invincible. I expected life to hand me everything on a silver platter. I kinda find that funny now 'cause it was pathetic, really. That's not what ended up happening at all._

_Currently_ ,  _I live in a small house just on the outskirts of Philadelphia. It's run down and dirty. The house is crammed. The streets are cold. I live with seven girls. Lauren, Mariana, Joe, Liza, Sandra, Ira and Keshia. We all got here under very different circumstances. It could never replace my real family, but, for the time being we've almost become as close as one. We all have our differences and we fight a lot, but at the end of a long night we all treasure each other. They've kinda become my family in a way. I feel responsible for their well being and guilty when something goes wrong._

 _I don't know how to tell you that my life is not good_.  _It's dangerous and scary. I used to be scared all the time. I don't remember what it's like to feel safe anymore. It feels like the days are passing me by, meaninglessly. I don't have the choice to find myself or the control over what I say and do and think anymore. I lost that a long time ago. We all did._

_We got used to living in the dark. He didn't really give us a choice. He tied us up and chained us down. He took away are freedom and our rights. We aren't really people, down here. We're just ideas. Silhouettes. Shadows, so to speak._

_He keeps us here and he forces us to do such horrible things. When you've lived a certain way for so long you sort of adapt. I guess kind of like a frog. When they're tadpoles they live in the water and they grow to reflect the environment in which they thrive. All of us grew into his hands. We constantly feel his presence. I can't bring myself to tell you in detail just what things have been done to me, but you have to at least know. You have the right to know what happened to your son. It's not up to me to decide what you feel afterwards._

_I've never been a waiter. When I first hit the streets it wasn't like I had any job skills. I was a kid. Again, I'm sorry I lied. I was just so ashamed. You didn't raise me to be a slut. That wasn't the life you worked so hard to give us. That wasn't the behavior you modeled for me._

_I don't even remember when I first started selling my body. It wasn't something I ever saw myself doing. But I was hungry. I needed the money so desperately and that was the only thing I had to offer. Once it was done it was gone and I knew there was nothing I could do to take it back._

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I don't think you have any idea how much I wish I could go back in time and stop myself. If only I could._

_After a few times I got used to it. Well, rather numb to it. At some point I think I just gave up. I felt so dirty, like a used piece of trash that no one could ever want. I didn't want you or anyone else to know that. But now you know._

_You know who I really am. You know where I am and you know how much I want to come home._

_But_   _I sold my soul, Momma._  
 _I'm not the boy I used to be. I'm a man now. I'm a broken, twisted, exhausted shell of a man. I have no salvation._

_I never meant to disgrace you. I understand that I don't deserve to be your son anymore. I understand if you don't want to see me. I don't really know who would want me. I've done so many awful things. I'm nothing but damaged goods. There isn't any of me left to give._

_The only thing I can promise you is that even if I die this very night, I will always love you._

_And_   _I will never stop missing you._

 _With_   _Love, Harry_.'

**_~_ **

He glanced out into the world, his warm breath fogging up the cold glass. It was noon. The sun was hiding. The rain pattered against the window, droplets racing down at different speeds, blurring his view.

Harry sat in his satin robe by the window in his room, his still damp hair put up in a bun. He folded up the letter neatly and carefully, before sliding it into the envelope. He wrote his name as precisely as possible on the front corner.

Despite the contents of his letter, Harry felt so relaxed. He felt like the time had come. She did have the right to know.

Harry had spent so much of his life pretending he was alright. He pushed everybody away and he concealed himself from the others. He never wanted them to realize that he felt the same pain they did. Acceptance was hard for him. All he knew how to do was cope. 

He took the envelope and slid the letter inside. He sealed it and stuck the stamps to the corner. He stood up, left his room and walked into hallway.

It was Saturday. The girls were around doing their own things, watching television or reading. Harry had done his laundry earlier so no one would yell at him for holding up the dryer. He was just chilling the majority of the day. Liza and Keshia were playing some board game in the living room while Sandra and Joe lounged on the couch. The house was relatively calm today; peaceful. Harry felt serene. Liam had been passing through the entire week. The man wasn't sleeping here at night and Harry wondered where he was and what he was doing. He never asked though. It wasn't any of his business and Liam would probably tell him that.

He walked by the girls' room and startled when through the crack of the door he saw Ira laying in bed naked. She clutched the covers to her chest and Harry could see a shirtless Niall shucking his jeans up and zipping the fly. Harry was surprised. He hadn't heard a single sound coming from the room.

He kept his mouth shut when Niall glanced up and saw him standing there wide eyed.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Niall asked, defensively. Harry shook his head and frantically promised he wasn't looking at anything.

Ira sat there in the bed, blankly staring down at the sheets.

Harry felt bad for her.

He decided to turn his head and to keep walking. He bypassed the messy bathroom where Mariana was washing her hair. He passed the kitchen where a nine month pregnant Lauren was rifling through the fridge. He passed the living room where Keshia and Liza were giggling on the carpet together.

He walked out of the front door and shuffled up the block. The heavy wind knocked him back a few steps, but he pulled his robe tighter around him and kept moving.

He made the short trip to the blue mailbox bolted to the sidewalk. He placed his letter in the slot and watched as it disappeared into the pile of envelopes.

He stood there for a minute, shivering as he glared at the box. He sometimes wished he could climb inside. If he could shrink, he would slip into that envelope and have the mailmen send him far away. He would do that for sure.  _If only he could._

Harry trudged back into the house, pulling his robe tight around him.

The tv played idly and Joe stared at the screen like a child; captivated by the fluorescent colors and vivid pictures flashing in her eyes. Sandra was more dozing off than paying attention. They were both oblivious to everything. Harry saw nothing wrong with that.

Liza left Keshia, mumbling something about a snack from the kitchen. The youngest girl sat on the floor, looking up at him the moment he walked into the room.

"Harry!" The girl lit up. Her smile made her look even more beautiful than she already was.

"What's up," Harry asked, as the girl reached her smaller hand up and slipped her fingers between his. 

"Guess what?"

"What,"

"I beat Liza three times straight." Keshia said with a prideful smirk.

"Of course you did," he smiled. Harry was so proud. Everyone knew Liza wasn't very good at any games. In the house, they had to pass the time somehow and so when Liza pulled out the cards and the dice, everyone just laughed at her. She was probably the most juvenile out of all of them even though she was eighteen.

Many of the girls didn't have very good parents. They often ran away because they were being hurt or sexually abused in their homes. Harry couldn't relate to that much since his Momma was always so loving during his childhood years. He knew there were a lot of unspoken memories and rueful pasts that weren't his concern anyway. The girls didn't pry with each other. There were too many layers to uncover.

"Me and my mom used to play a game like this. Where you roll the dice move the pieces and stuff," Keshia said to him, her brown eyes radiant with her enthusiasm.

"Yeah?" Harry asked as he sat down onto the floor next to her. Keshia nodded and gave his much bigger hand a small squeeze.

"Sometimes. When she was home. That was before they took me away from her," Keshia told Harry. He felt his heart sink a little when she told him that. He couldn't imagine a childhood without his Momma.

"When was that?" Harry asked.

"Not too long ago. I think I was nine. Or ten." Keshia answered, her curls bouncing a little as she looked up at the commercial on the tv screen.

"What was she like?" Harry somberly asked. He knew it was a sensitive subject for a lot of the girls who landed here. Harry personally thought of his mother as the only good thing he had left to hold onto, and anyone else's interference with that would probably really anger him. Harry knew Joe's mom used to drink and beat on her. He knew Mariana's mom died when she was little. Other than that, the girls really didn't want to share. Harry understood because he himself wanted to keep his mother separate from all things pertaining to this life.

"She was really pretty. Her hair was dark brown and super thick. She was nice and patient with me when I was little. I don't remember her ever getting angry with me or anything." Keshia murmured, from beside him.

"She raised me by herself. She never told me much about my dad. When I asked she said she didn't want to talk about it."

"Same with my mom." Harry interjected. Keshia looked to him and nodded. It was always nice to find someone who understood.

When Harry was little his mom never spoke about his biological dad. She was very quiet about those things. Harry didn't have a father figure growing up but he never felt too sad about it. He always had his Momma.

Still, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a dad like some of the other kids from school. It wasn't such an uncommon thing to be a single parent those days anyway.

It did, however, hurt Harry to have those thoughts; scanning a crowd of strangers with the hope that  _maybe_   _that's him,_ or _maybe him,_   _he looks like me a little_. The questions nagging in the back of his head his whole life:  
 _Who is he? Where is he? What does he look like? What does he do? Why did he leave us? Why doesn't he want me?_

"I don't like that. Kids should have two parents who care for them. I always wonder where my dad is and like, what he's doing in this very moment," Keshia said, sadly.

"I know." Harry sighed. Keshia was a very lovely girl. She talked about the things that meant the most to her. Harry respected that. She had experienced her own share of pain though she was only a child. He wanted to keep this precious girl from knowing any more of it. Keshia of all people did not deserve it. None of them did, but the young girl reminded him of the hope that lied beyond the prison bars.

"I've always wondered why fathers leave. It's not fair." Keshia muttered.  
"When I grow up I'm gonna get married and have kids. He's gonna stay right next to me and we'll raise our babies together."

"Yeah? How do you picture him?" Harry intrigued.

Keshia sat and thought for a minute, her lower lip pursing out.

"I want him to he funny. I like boys who are funny. He's gotta be a good listener. I like pretty eyes too." She said. Harry's thumb tenderly brushed over the back of her hand.

"I also want him to have skin like you." Keshia said, her chocolate eyes glimmering as she spoke.

"You like white boys?" Harry asked, chuckling.

"Yeah! Like... I don't know... I think my dad was white. He had to be," the girl pondered it.

Harry thought it was a damn shame. Keshia had no clue what the future held. Harry felt bile rise to his throat when he thought about it. He kept trying to push those thoughts to the back of his mind but he couldn't shake the truth.

He couldn't run from everything.

~ ❁ ~

"That's seven hundred right there," Mariana sat on Harry's mattress, her backpack unzipped in her lap as she doled out the money for Harry to see.

"That's twelve hundred all together," he thought, placing the various notes on the bed.

Mariana looked at him with wide eyes. "Where are we gonna hide this much money?" She whispered, anxiously.

He stood and walked over to his closet, reaching up and grabbing the shoebox that encased his red heels.

"Just give it here," he said, taking the cover off and placing the box on the bed. He sat down next to her and pulled out a fat roll of money.

"How much is that?" Mari gasped. Harry had honestly been hiding money from Liam forever. It's not like it was hard. He didn't do checks on Harry anymore because he probably figured he'd broken his spirit years ago. Liam had broken him in some ways, but this was different. Harry  _had_  to save his own cash. He kept this money for emergency purposes. He had to pay for doctor visits and enemas and condoms and lube. It was for private things. Essentials. Things Liam wouldn't bother to think about.

"I don't know. I haven't bothered to count it in a long time." Harry told her surreptitiously. He unfolded the money and started counting.

He wasn't used to having his own things. Most of what he had was affiliated with Liam in some way. He had to give up most of what he worked for. He felt bad sometimes. Harry was pretty sure most of the girls gave everything up earnestly. Harry couldn't do that to himself. He had to lie to Liam. There was nothing wrong with breaking the rules as long as he didn't get caught.

"That's a lot, Harry." Mariana bit her lip. She looked nervous, like maybe she wasn't sure about going behind Liam's back to do this.

"I know it is. Just keep your mouth shut and we don't have to worry about anything," Harry said to her. She nodded and handed him the extra money she earned.

"How much is it..." she asked as she watched him flip through the green paper.

"Shh. Hold on. I don't want to have to start over." He told her as he laid out several separate piles on the bed.

"That's three grand right there," he murmured to himself, numbers whirring through his mind. He counted slowly as he tried not to mess up. It had been five years since he'd done any math.

"Damn," Mari huffed, threading her hand in her still damp, shampoo smelling locks.

"That's almost four thousand dollars," He said to himself, once he added Mari's seven hundred dollar contribution to the stack.

"I must have miscounted," he shook his head and grabbed the first pile to start all over again.

"No, I was watching you. I think that's right," the girl said from beside him, a small smile creeping up her face.

Harry looked at her and did the same.

"See. I told you." Mariana said, placing her hand on his back.

Harry felt so happy. That wasn't an emotion he knew very well. Ever since he was in adolescence he was a sad boy. It felt like everything was going against him. Here with Mari, who was helping him with something he never dreamed would ever happen, he was over the moon. This meant that Harry could at least spend a week with Louis without Liam having any knowledge of him shirking his responsibilities.

"Thank you," Harry said, leaning in to her touch.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Harry didn't even look to see who it was. He hopped up and frantically gathered the money. Mariana went to help him when she took a look around the corner.

"It's just Keshia," she sighed in relief as soon as she saw the girl.

"Oh, sorry. I was looking for Harry," Keshia whispered, glancing to him.

"I thought you locked the door, Mari," he muttered softly, giving her an annoyed look. Mariana shrugged.

"Need something?" He asked sweetly, turning back to the thirteen year old.

"No just... everyone's getting ready and it's crowded in there," she said.

Harry put five hundred dollars in his purse before placing the rest of it in the shoebox.

Mariana zipped up her bag and stood, slinging it over her shoulder.

"What's that," Keshia asked Harry as he reached up to the top shelf of his closet where he hid the box.

"A shoebox," Harry smiled. It's not like he didn't trust Keshia or have any reason not to. He just figured that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. For example, if Liam came storming in threatening people she could in no way be liable of the truth.

He turned sat down on the edge of his bed with his bag in his lap as Mari left the room. Keshia walked over quickly and sat next to him.

"You look pretty," the girl said, eyes scrolling up and down his face.

"Thank you," he acknowledged her compliment. For once he actually felt good. He didn't feel like it was necessary for him to overthink. He could get through another night of hustling as long as he got to be with Louis in the end.

Harry wasn't sure when he would get to see Louis again. They weren't really communicating. Harry hadn't seen Louis at the club anymore and he assumed that in due time, his and Mari's work would pay off. He wanted to keep Liam far from suspicion, so this was a very covert operation. He had to use his head and that was fairly easy because he didn't trust anyone with the secret. He couldn't mess around because he was positive Liam would have both of their necks if he discovered what was going on.

"Is it scary?"

Harry looked up.  
"What do you mean?"

"You know... doing  _it_  with a bunch of guys," Keshia murmured.

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure where this was coming from. Keshia had never asked him about his life before and that just hit him hard because it made the situation so much more tangible. Not only did Keshia know about it. She was asking him how he felt.

"It was at first." Harry seriously said. Keshia looked down, her soft brown hands folded in her lap.

"I stopped worrying, after awhile,"

Harry sat with her in his quiet room, the sounds of the others getting ready and talking to each other down the hall making him feel some sort of hurt. He didn't know what reminded Keshia of the actuality of things, but he wished he could have silence it.

"I've never done it with anyone before. I've never done anything." Keshia said weakly, her voice small.

Harry's tattered heart tore a little more. This poor child was thinking about sex. Harry was much older than her when he was introduced. He was fifteen and had at least had his Momma to teach him about safe sex. His first time wasn't the ideal first time, but at least it existed.

Keshia was walking into this life empty handed. She had no way of knowing anything. It was simply cruel.

"Don't worry about that," Harry said, nudging her arm with his elbow.

"Why?"

"Because..." Harry sighed, sadly.

"You've got us. You're not going through it alone. We... I'll make sure you know exactly what you need to," Harry comforted her, his waxy lips turned up in an insignificant smile.

"But I'm scared," she breathed, seeming hardly placated.

"We've got time to get you ready. There's no rush for a bit. So relax." Harry reassured her with a gentle pat to her back. Harry wasn't sure there was much he could say. He knew his actions would have to contradict his words.

"Okay," Keshia exhaled.

"I've gotta go," Harry took one last look at Keshia before standing up.

He snatched his black heels up from where he placed them on the end of his bed earlier before walking to the door.

"Bye," Keshia said to him.

"See ya," he waved, pulling the door shut behind him.

~ ❁ ~


	19. e i g h t e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess the song for this chapter would be LoveHate Thing by Wale ft. Sam Dew.   
> Just Saying.

~ ❁ ~

Harry gazed up at Louis, nothing but trust washing over him. His ankles locked together around Louis's hips, resting against his lower back. He clawed at the strong muscles, his red nails leaving even redder marks down Louis's back. Between his legs, Louis slid in all the way, filling him to the hilt with one swift glide. Harry's eyelids fluttered briefly as he adjusted to the hot pressure.

He kept his eyes locked onto Louis's as the man started to move. Harry's grip tightened as Louis pulled out and eased back in slowly, the head of his dick pressing right over Harry's prostate. He tossed his head back and moaned, soft and legato. 

Louis kissed him deeply, curled his tongue in, stole the noises from his throat. Harry burned with pleasure, his back arching with every thrust. He couldn't handle it. 

Louis was glaring at him, his fiery blue eyes boring him into the mattress with every thrust of his hips.

Harry gazed at the older man, his lips dropping open every time he felt Louis driving into him just right. 

He didn't need to scream for it harder or beg for it faster. He didn't have to tell Louis what he craved. He didn't have to cry out. Louis already knew exactly what to do. It was innate.

Harry could feel the bed frame rocking beneath him. He could feel the headboard slowly knocking against the wall each time. He could hear Louis above him, groaning as he rocked his hips repeatedly.

Harry just laid there, taking it. He couldn't do anything. He didn't want to do anything. He wanted Louis to take care of him; cloud his head for just a little while. Harry let his eyes drift shut, trusting the man inside of him.

Louis always gave it to him the way he needed it. Louis took his time, would whisper in his ear and suck on his neck; always made sure Harry was turned on before going any further. Louis would strip him of his clothes one by one so calmly. Harry never felt like they had to rush. Louis would take him wherever was most convenient, be it the couch, the fluffy carpet in his living room, bent over the island countertop, etc. It was understood that whenever Harry showed up, Louis got a special kind of excited and literally dropped everything to have sex with him. He never hesitated to do anything for Harry. He was eager and willing to lay Harry on his bed and eat him out until he cried if that's what he wanted. He most certainly didn't seem to mind.

It was simple. Louis just made him  _feel good_. In every way. Louis was so in touch with Harry's body and didn't even have to try. It was natural, what they shared. It didn't feel forced or artificial. It was an adventure and gave Harry an indescribable feeling just to know he was breaking so many rules by coming each time he did.

Harry couldn't always come and visit Louis. He still had to work or hustle some nights. So Harry savored every minute he got to be with the man because of the mirage of freedom he felt in his presence. Harry lived in chains. With Louis, he could easily forget that.

Harry dreaded that hot surge of euphoria that coursed through his bloodstream. As Louis continued to thrust forward, Harry felt the friction of his abdomen against his hard, leaking cock. He felt Louis stroking his spot over and over again, making the pleasure so unbearable. He knew he was close and hated knowing that it was going to end.

"Lou...I-I'm gonna come," Harry warned, his eyes squeezing shut. He grasped onto Louis's shoulders, fingertips smoothing over his hot skin.

"Yeah. Go ahead, baby," Louis whispered tenderly against his temple. He kept going, hips slowing to take Harry through it. Harry trembled, his whole body drowning in hot white static as he came hard between their bodies.

Drained, Harry sunk into the bed. Louis didn't keep him long. Only a few thrusts later and Louis was coming himself. 

Louis fumbled around beside him. Harry wasn't paying attention as Louis pulled out and disposed of his condom.

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, one hand over his forehead and the other tangled with Louis. He was too tired to tell Louis not to hold his hand. 

He often had to pull away when Louis tried to kiss him and touch him. Harry was growing weary of it. Louis wanted to hold him after they fucked and that was okay. Harry didn't mind that. Eventually he felt a little hot and uncomfortable and he would have to get up to leave anyway. He couldn't spend the night like Louis wanted him to. He had a curfew he had to keep. 

Louis cradled Harry's hand to his chest, kissing the pale skin, playing with his fingers and tracing the dips of his knuckles. Harry let him to it. It wasn't hurting anything.

"Why don't you stay?" Louis asked, his voice half muffled in his pillow.

Harry turned his head, catching his sideways glance.

"Can't... got work," Harry answered, lowly as he fiddled with a strewn piece of his long hair. He sighed into the air, blowing the loose strand out of his eyes before turning on his side to face Louis.

"You know you don't... have to..." Louis murmured, his eyes focused on where Harry's hand was nestled between the both of his.

Harry frowned. He didn't feel like talking about this because it always resulted in an argument. Harry came to Louis so he could get away from the pain. He didn't want to talk about it here because he didn't want to think about it.

Louis didn't like Harry's life. It was obvious. He wanted Harry to himself. He wanted to claim Harry for his own. Some men got really possessive over Harry after they fucked and Louis was one of them. 

"Louis-" 

"I know. Sorry," he sighed.

Harry slowly pulled his hand away from the man. He didn't want Louis touching him anymore. 

Louis sat up a little, slouching underneath the sheets. Harry did the same. He sat against the headboard and made sure his body was covered by the soft bed linen.

Harry swallowed. He picked at his nails. The paint was chipping and he wondered when he would have a chance to get them done again. He blinked as he sat there, starting to feel cold as his body temperature normalized.

"Why do you even come here?" 

Harry turned his head, was met with Louis's downcast eyes. Disdain coursed through Harry's veins as he thought about his answer. He didn't want to tell Louis how low his self worth was. He didn't want Louis to know how unhappy he was. He couldn't tell Louis about his life. And Harry would never admit to Louis how much the time they spend together meant to him. 

"That's a stupid question," Harry scoffed, huffing a laugh.

"Why is it stupid?" Louis asked, irritatedly.

"It just is,"

Harry's fingers trailed up his own chest, dipping into his collarbones, touching the red love bites Louis gave him.

"...you invited me," Harry whispered, sort of hoping Louis wouldn't hear it.

Louis did hear it. 

"To be honest... I didn't think you would even come," Louis said softly, a bitter chuckle leaving him.

Harry sighed.

The honking of car horns and the sound of rain splattering in the city streets mollified him. Louis had a window right by his bed and Harry could see the drops of rain stuck to the glass and streaked down it's surface. His sweaty hands grasped the sheets as the two of them sat there in silence. Harry didn't know what time it was. It was late but he wasn't sure what time exactly. He really should have been heading out either way.

"Can I ask you something?" 

Harry didn't like it when Louis asked him things. He didn't have to answer, of course, but the questions made him think. Harry spent a lot of his time thinking about everything, and when Louis genuinely showed an interest in his thoughts and feelings it made him sad. Because Harry often thought without resolution. 

"I probably won't answer," Harry told him, rudely.

"That's fine," Louis said, simply. 

Harry didn't  _get_  Louis. Louis didn't know how to act around him, like most. Louis never really meant to offend him, but Harry wasn't really sure what to think. He didn't like to play along with the games. Who could have blamed him? For all Harry had been through, it only made sense. He wasn't overly fond of the whole 'trust' thing.

Louis was the closest thing to a friend he had. He wasn't, of course. Harry didn't have friends. Because friends were just people who hadn't stabbed him in the back yet. Friends were just strangers who pretended to care. Friends were just good liars who sang fantasies. He couldn't keep friends around to anticipate their departure. Friends weren't compatible with Harry nor his life.

"Is it hard for you to get here?" Louis asked, picking with the pink condom wrapper from earlier in the night.

"What do you mean?"

"Like..." Louis cleared his throat and looked at Harry. "Do you have to take a bus or... I don't even know where you live."

"I take the bus." Harry said, folding his hands in his lap. Louis dropped the condom wrapper in the bin over the side of the bed. 

"I could give you a ride if you needed. It's late. I'd hate for you to have to stand out in the rain," Louis offered. He shifted a little closer and placed his hand on Harry's back. 

"I don't need you to do that," Harry tensed under his touch, scooted over to the edge of the bed and threw his legs over the side.

Louis dropped his hand against the mattress.

"I can do things on my own,"

"Well, obviously." Louis hissed. "I'm just saying... would it be more convenient if-"

"No, it wouldn't." Harry snapped. He sometimes cringed at the way he sounded so awful to people. He had a sharp tongue and couldn't help but use it when he was allowed to. If he ever spoke so hotly to Liam he would be punished immediately.

"Do you have to sneak out to come here?" Louis asked, bluntly, finally asking what he wanted to all along. 

Harry knew Louis had questions. It had been a month since they first started doing this. All that time, Harry did sneak out to come and see him. He went behind the girls' and Liam's back in order to spend time with Louis. Yet, when Harry was  _with_  Louis, he did nothing but fight him.

It wasn't very logical.

"What, you think I can come here and sleep with you for free? You think Liam would be okay with that?" Harry turned around to Louis, his words venomous.

"Who is Liam?" Louis asked, ignorantly.

Harry ran his hand down his face, sighing heavily into the warm apartment air. 

He couldn't get angry with Louis. Louis was the only person in his life who could make him feel better. He was the only man who could provide relief. Louis genuinely did not know and he had no bad intentions. Harry knew that. 

"He's my, uh... pimp," Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Oh," Louis breathed. In his peripheral vision, Harry could see Louis messing with his hair, combing it out with his fingers.

Harry stared at the ground, his pink painted toenails looking foreign against Louis's wood floor.

"So that's Liam..." Louis thought out loud.

"Can I take a shower?" Harry asked quickly, but shyly. He was in Louis's home and he'd been there many times but he still felt out of place. Although he was doing Louis a huge favor by not charging him for his sexual services, he was still a filthy street queen. He probably should've been paying Louis for fucking him. It would be more fitting for the situation.

"Yeah, yeah." Louis hummed.

Harry hurried up and into Louis bathroom, shivering as his feet padded across the icy floor.

He closed the door and locked it.

Louis had a nice bathroom. He kept it clean. His mirror was sparkling and his toilet wasn't grimy, like the one in the house Harry lived in. The shower wasn't moldy and the racks were supplied with a fresh towel and washcloth.

It were almost as if Louis had expected Harry to stay, at some point.

He turned the knob and ran the shower quickly. He didn't even wait for the water to heat up (that, and he had too much pride to ask Louis how to work it). He stepped under the spray and lathered himself in some of Louis's body soap. He made sure he had scrubbed his skin of all his desperation before rinsing off.

He got out and dried off, wrapping the towel around his torso before leaving the bathroom.

Louis was up in the kitchen by the time he finished. He was just in boxers, sipping a glass of water.

Harry sat on the end of Louis's bed, gathering up his clothes from where they lay strewn on the floor.

"You can borrow some pants. If you need," Louis said, staring at him from across the apartment with his arms folded on top of his granite island counter top.

"Thanks," Harry got up and went over to Louis's dresser, rummaging through the top drawer. He slipped on a pair of briefs, stumbling back a little on his long unsteady legs.

Once he got the underwear under control, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He dried his hair as much as he could be bothered to and then left the towel on the floor. He slipped his tight shirt on over his torso and then his even tighter skinny jeans. 

It was only ten o'clock so Harry didn't have to rush out like other nights. He kinda wanted to leave anyway because of the way Louis was eyeing him.

He rested his hands on the holes ripped in his knees. He tried not to notice the way Louis was staring. He felt uncomfortable. There was something about the man that made him, not only shy, but almost pressured. It was different from feeling judged. He felt like there was this force between them that made Harry want to try hard to impress Louis; to be above him.

Or maybe to push him away.

"Do you know any friends who would pay more than two hundred dollars to fuck me?" Harry asked nonchalantly, eyeing his nails.

Louis cleared his throat again from where he stood in the kitchen.

"Not really, no," he muttered.

Harry figured that would be his answer.

Louis didn't like Harry's attitude about his promiscuity. That was also evident. He didn't coincide with Harry when he said blatant things like that.

"You must lose a ton of money screwing with me for free," Louis grunted, bitterly.

Harry, with his hands on his knees, rose and stood from the bed.

"Don't be such a bitch about it," Harry commanded, as he strolled into the kitchen.

"I'm not being a bitch." Louis frowned. "I'm just saying..."

"No, I know what you're saying." Harry nodded dismissively, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. 

He grabbed his purse from where it sat on top of Louis's island. He dug through it, pulling out his favorite pink lipstick.

He sat down at one of the stools on the opposite side of the countertop and uncapped the tube. 

He licked his lip before he started. He stared right at Louis as he applied the cosmetic, dusting it over his bottom lip, then his top.

"You don't know what your talking about, Louis," he said, calmly. He didn't have any sarcastic or cynical meaning to the comment. It was honesty.

"You don't know anything about me," Harry twisted the lipstick tube until the pink disappeared behind the black shell. He capped it and dropped it back into his purse.

He took out his compact makeup and dabbed his cheeks a little, concealing the flush Louis always seemed to put there. He caught a glimpse of Louis glaring at him when he peeked around his mirror, but the older man stayed silent.

"I know you couldn't possibly think I enjoy my job," Harry said, sweetly, as he closed his makeup and looked at Louis.

Louis kept biting his tongue.   
The expression on his handsome face made it look like it was starting to hurt.

"I know you don't know how hard it is for me to come here and be with you," he whispered.

"Then why do you?" Louis asked once more, walking around the island to Harry's side. He put his hand on the counter in front of Harry, making him turn to face him.

Harry didn't answer.

"If I don't have any ties to you, why are you making them," Louis stood over him, his bare chest warm and right in his face. Harry glanced up, his eyes dilated.

"There's nothing between us," Harry said, firmly. He hated the subordination Louis tried hold over him. Harry was strong, and he could fight back if he had to. He wasn't afraid of the man.

"I never said there was," Louis snarled, clearly annoyed. Harry trying to take a step ahead in order to get the upper hand only made him sound stupid when Louis denied his assumptions.

"It's just sex, Louis," Harry looked up, green eyes big and pouty.

"Then get out. Go." Louis spat at him, getting right in his face about it.   
"You can get sex from just about anyone," 

Harry stared at the floor, his cheeks burning. He knew exactly what Louis was trying to say. But he didn't want to hear it. 

"Fuck off, Louis," Harry got up off the stool and grabbed his bag. He didn't hesitate to speak him mind. With Louis, he had the freedom to bitch. He had the right to speech and expression. Louis wouldn't silence him. 

"You don't know what I go through. You don't know shit. Everyday since I was eighteen I've been selling my ass. I work hard for what I have. I deserve this. I don't care if it hurts you and your petty emotions. Get over it like the rest of us," Harry spat, stabbing his finger into Louis's chest. Louis didn't know anything about pain. It humored Harry to think that the man was butt hurt about something so stupid.

"It does hurt me. You're so broken and you don't even realize it," Louis said, mocking him. At least that's what Harry thought.

"How does it feel? Does it feel good, being used?" Harry asked, spitefully.

"I'm probably the only person in your life who values you and your opinion," Louis said, solemnly, ignoring everything Harry had said.

"You're an asshole. This was a mistake. You clearly don't get it." Harry muttered, pushing past Louis to leave his apartment for the last time.

"If it's such a challenge for you to come here, then why are you wasting your energy fighting me?" Louis grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Let me go,  _damn_  it," Harry tried to pry Louis's hand off of his bicep. Louis was actually, surprisingly much stronger than him.

"Harry, please. Just tell me," Louis begged, his death grip loosening.

"I said fuck  _off_ ," Harry seethed.

Harry turned and put his hand on the doorknob of Louis's apartment. He fumbled with it, finally getting the door to open when Louis gripped him by his arm and spun him around.

The next thing he registered, was Louis grabbing him by the waist and kissing him. Harry pushed Louis back, hands against his chest to give him leverage against the older man. He shoved and fought, but Louis pinned him to the door with a forearm against his chest.

There it was again, that fierceness that drove Harry to insanity. He was enraged. Louis was ignoring him. Harry's frustrations were valid. He had the right to be angry. Louis was the one who got the least harm out of all this, yet he was the one whining about it the most. Harry just wanted to be fucked. He just wanted one man to treat him like a human being without expecting anything in return. So what if that meant a broken heart somewhere in between? Harry had no empathy for Louis or any of his feelings. He wasn't obliged to that. He never signed up for it. This emotional brat was not the man Harry thought he was. 

But Harry couldn't breathe. He couldn't move and he couldn't speak because Louis was manhandling him again; using that power to keep him still and keep him quiet.

Louis kissed him again and again, pulling away shortly before going back in. He looked Harry in the eye for a quick minute, grabbing his chin with his free hand and tilting his head so he could have Harry's lips exactly the way he wanted them. Harry could see his lipstick on Louis's face. He could see the way it made him look ridiculous. He could feel the way Louis's stubble burned against his soft skin. He could taste the way Louis's resentment shifted into something much worse.

Harry was dazed and shocked when Louis pulled away. Louis used the same force to arouse him every time he came over with the unspeakable need.

Harry bit his lip, as Louis backed up. It were as if Harry was to be a new creature after being graced by the taste of Louis's lips. It were as if Louis expected Harry to feel different. It were as if Louis had presumed that the kiss had clouded Harry's head well enough to make him forget the problem.

The ' _don't leave me_ ' in his gaze was evident. And Harry didn't want to leave. He had to. It would have been so much better for the both of them if Harry had never returned to begin with.

Louis looked at him with these hopeful eyes, just wishing Harry had been broken of the spell which made him so refractory.

Harry, with his purse in one hand and his other on his hip, took hesitant steps closer, until his chest was an inch from his counter part's.

Louis's breath clearly hitched when Harry reached his right hand up and slapped him firmly across the face. His hair flipped and his head snapped sideways with the strength of the collision.

Louis closed his eyes, processing the pain he just received.

Harry stepped back, clenching his reddened palm. "I don't belong to you," he muttered.

Louis held one hand to his throbbing cheek as Harry left him that night, shutting the door in his face.

~ ❁ ~


	20. n i n e t e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably start adding warnings. :/ soz. there's attempted rape in this.

~ ❁ ~

Harry walked into the house to the shrilling shrieks of a newborn.

Lauren held her child in her arms, trying to quiet the poor thing with her bottle. The baby girl had a voice like a blaring trumpet section. She screamed for what felt like hours on end without the need for a breath. 

Mariana was no where to be seen. Harry figured she was probably still out on the street. He needed to tell her that his sexual extravaganza was over and that he didn't need her to be working extra anymore. He never should have let her convince him to begin with. It was kind of fucked up and selfish, now that Harry was thinking about it.

Sandra was in the kitchen with the tub of baby formula, stirring a new bottle. The two girls looked exhausted. Lauren had her hair in a messy bun as she rocked her baby back and forth. Sandra was in sweats, like maybe she had gotten the night off.

Liza, Joe and Ira were still out for sure. Harry gripped his bag and walked toward Liam's room.

"Zayn fucking Malik," 

Harry froze by the door, placing his hand on the frame. Through the crack in the door Harry could see Liam pacing back and forth around the room. Niall sat relaxed on the edge of the bed, opening and closing the switchblade in his hands. 

"Fifty, Niall. That fucking prick owes me fifty thousand dollars! I'm never gonna see it again." Liam growled.

"I told you not to trust him," Niall muttered as he tore a few holes into Liam's stained comforter with the blade.

Harry bit his lip, pressing his purse to his chest as he listened. Liam would slit his throat for eavesdropping if he were caught.

"I don't know how I'm gonna pay Manny this month. Malik's not coming out any time soon. All those drug charges..." Niall nodded along, carding a hand through his dark brown hair.

"Why don't you just hustle your whores for it?" 

Harry frowned at Niall's nonchalantly cruel suggestion. They were already working seven nights a week pulling ten or more tricks a night. It wasn't fair. It wasn't their fault things weren't working out for Liam.

"Lemme see... if five of them are working seven nights a week pulling at least five hundred a night..." Liam hummed, attempting a mathematical equation. Harry listened, curious as to whether or not he could do it.

"That's thirty five hundred each per week..." Niall helped him out. After another long beat of silence Harry wondered if Liam was even in there anymore.

"And there's five of them..." Liam mumbled, sounding deep in thought.

Harry couldn't even laugh and appreciate Liam's stupidity because even he couldn't multiply thirty five hundred by five. 

"Fuck it. I'll just get the other two out on the street," Liam slurred.

"Should've finished high school," Niall chuckled to himself, making fun of Liam.

"Like you did? Fuck school. I'm the one with a house and a Jag, letting you bum off my couch." Liam scoffed, frowning.

Niall silenced, making a face. 

"I need that money by the end of the month," Liam sighed. "They already make me a lot. I don't know how much more they'd be able to take. Mariana and Harry make me the most money. I can't afford to lose any of them,"

Harry chewed his index nail, hoping the conversation wasn't going where he thought it was. Postponing the inevitable wasn't a productive strategy, because it would have to come eventually.

"You treat them too good. They don't take you seriously. If you beat on them they'd make you all the money you need," Niall said casually, shrugging.

"I can't collect right now. I know they don't seem like people to you, but if I do that, they might break. Remember Pat?" Liam asked Niall.

Harry remembered Patricia. She was the girl who indoctrinated him when he first got to the house. She was a throwaway. She ran away because her father was molesting her. She confided in Harry to help him adjust. She warned him what Liam was and what he would do to him. Harry didn't want to listen of course. Pat was quiet, but she was smart. She hated the drama. She did what she had to and often helped Harry recuperate after he was raped or beaten. Liam was working them too much and everyone was weary. She couldn't handle it. Pat fell into a deep trench of depression after a few months. But Harry was pretty sure she was gone far before he even showed up. She wouldn't get out of bed and she refused to work. One day Harry woke up and Pat was gone. He never found out what happened to her. There were speculations about Liam selling her or having someone dispose of her. Harry didn't want to know or think about what that could have meant, so he moved on.

"Yeah." Niall murmured.

"We don't need a repeat of that."

"What about the little one?" Niall suggested.

Harry tensed. He hoped Niall wasn't referring to Keshia. He knew somewhere in his heart that there wasn't anyone else as little as her. He just didn't want to accept it. He wasn't ready to lose her.

"She's a virgin," Liam thought about the gold mine he had just stumbled upon. Harry could see the deviousness in his eyes and it made him shiver.

"Exactly." Niall smirked.

Harry felt queasy. He was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to go through with this. If there was a perfect Angel that didn't deserve to be thrusted into the darkness of hell and contorted into a Demon, it was Keshia. The girl was the definition of innocence. It was sick and it was wrong to strip her of the title.

"I'll talk to Harry." Liam said, after a minute. "I'll get a few guys to buy her, tell them all she's a virgin. Sell her for a fortune." 

Harry listened with a heavy heart.

"Next Friday. That's plenty of time to come up with the money," Liam said, scratching the back of his neck.

Harry felt his pulse jump. There was no time left at all. A week wasn't long enough. 

"Sounds like a fifty thousand dollar plan," Niall retracted his knife with a click, shoving it deep into his pocket before standing up.

Liam was about to reply when a sharp infant's yell wracked the entire building.

"I'm fucking sick of that damn baby," Liam gritted, fists clenched.

"Then sell it," Niall said, as he grabbed the half rolled blunt in the ziplock bag from atop Liam's bedside table, examining it before stuffing it into his own pocket.

"Too risky," Liam huffed, taking a step towards the opened door.

Harry had heard quite enough. He quickly went to his room so he wasn't caught. He could still hear them talking from his room, but he didn't listen. He couldn't bear to hear any more.

~ ❁ ~

Friday night had come and Harry and Mariana were on the bus. Harry had been deep in his thoughts all day. He had approximately one week left with that beautiful angel. It pained him every moment of the day. That afternoon Keshia had helped remove the worn polish from his fingers and after, they both painted their hands a matching golden yellow that complimented Keshia's skin tone wonderfully.

He adored her. Harry adored Keshia. That was something foreign to him, he realized. Harry liked Mariana and loathed Joe and could tolerate Lauren and Sandra and the others. But Harry found himself wanting to spend every moment of his time with the youngest girl. He wanted to shelter her and protect her from the wickedness of the world. He wanted her to have every one of her childish desires. He wanted Keshia to always smile. It's what made him hate Liam more than anything. Harry wanted to keep Keshia safe, but he knew that wasn't an option. 

He would have to hurt her. He would have to mislead her. He would be the culprit who would send her off into the dark all on her own. He would give her the false hope. He told her it would be okay. He promised.

"It's not the first time," Mari said. She still didn't understand.

"But she's so young. And sweet. And kind. And she's got dreams, Mari. She still has dreams," Harry sighed, slouching in the back seat of the public transportation.

"You're saying that as if we didn't already go through it. What's gotten into you?" She asked him, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Nothing's gotten into me. I'm just... saying-"

"You can say all you want. It's not gonna change anything." Mariana stared out the window, watching cars pass by.

Harry knew he had changed. Something had happened. He was empathetic. He felt bad when Lauren was weeping and tearing her hair out over her baby because Liam threatened to take it away. He felt sick when he watched Niall grab Ira by her forearm and force her into the bedroom. He felt bile rise to his throat when Keshia talked to him about how scared she was. 

Harry didn't know why he could feel the pain.

"By the way," Harry cleared his throat.

Mari turned to him. "I'm done with Louis." He said confidently.

Mariana scoffed at him, her eyebrows scrunched up together. 

"Yeah, okay." She turned her head to the window again, hands squeezing the sides of her backpack. 

"What do you mean?" He asked, confusedly.

"You wouldn't have gone through all that trouble for him if you were." 

"Well, that was before. I'm sick of him. He's an ass and he just doesn't get it. I never should have gone in the first place." Harry corrected her as he dug through his purse in search of the money she loaned him.

"That's such a damn waste," she chided.

Harry glanced up, his hand stilling in his bag. "What?"

"Look, you have somethin' good. I don't care he's an ass. He could get you out," Mari told him, whispering it as if Liam were listening.

"How could he get me out?" Harry asked, angrily. 

"If you had some place to go. Liam would find you if you were wandering out on the street but if you lived with him that wouldn't happen," she suggested.

"That's stupid. You and I both know that's not an actual option," Harry laughed at her, knowing confidently he would never see Louis  _ever_  again.

"Fine. Go ahead. Throw that opportunity away. You'll just keep selling your pretty ass until you get AIDS and die," Mari spat, bitterly.

"Shut your whore mouth," Harry retorted, giving her a look of disgust.

"If that's what you wanna do then fine. Stay here forever. Give up," Mari folded her arms over her chest and looked the other way.

Harry handed her the money sadly. He knew she was tired. They all were. She looked at him briefly, took the money and stuffed it into her bag.

The rest of the journey was wordless.

~ ❁ ~

Harry tossed his hair back, with one arm hooked around the man's neck he slowly grounded his hips down. He felt the white light washout as the club jumped, his skin hot to the touch. He felt the man's hands run down his body. He felt the bulge pressing into his ass from behind. A wide cherry red smile stretched across his face as he pushed back, his eyes shutting in ecstasy. The man moaned against his ear, a hot breathy sound.

The club was crowded that night. Harry had gotten there early, had time to do his makeup properly and to put mousse in his hair. He had danced with a couple of guys, violated the pole for a good thirty minutes, then hustled in the bathroom for another ten. The night was always a stage for Harry, whether it belonged to him or not. 

When the song ended, Harry turned around, pressed the heel of his palm into the man's groin, whispered in his ear that would only be fifty dollars if he wanted him to take care of that. The man slipped him the twenty dollars for the dance and sent him off with a tiny squeeze on his ass. Harry sauntered off into the crowd, pouting. 

He was just about to walk past the bar when someone forcefully grabbed his arm. He startled, felt his heart beat out of his chest.

"Harry," he heard a deep gruff voice, booming over the bass of the club.

Harry closed his eyes, as the man pulled him closer. 

In front of him stood a tall man with firm biceps. He had piercing eyes, a thick beard, was wearing ripped jeans and had an awful alcoholic stench to his breath. 

"Remember me?" He asked, tilting his head a little. His other hand slid around Harry's waist. He looked away, feeling nothing but discomfort as the man pulled him closer. 

He didn't know what to say. Of course he didn't remember him. He slept with a lot of men. 

"Um... n-no." Harry murmured. The man just chuckled, drunkenly. He wondered briefly if he should try to take advantage of the man's incoherency. 

By the time Harry realized that probably wasn't a good idea, the man was growling in his ear, talking about this and accusing him of that. Harry felt his heart rate shoot up, panic settling in his stomach.

He tried to weasel his way out of the man's hold, shaking his head and saying he had no idea what he was talking about, but it was useless. The man's grip got firmer, fingers gouging into Harry's side. The man got both hands on Harry, knocking his drink over in the process. 

Harry hyperventilated the whole time when the man took him into the bathroom, pressed him against the wall with a hand over his mouth, smearing his lipstick. Harry didn't try to scream. He didn't try to fight. That would be pointless. It would be easier to hold still and just take it.

He man had his other hand on his throat, threatening him if he screamed. He was terrified, but he nodded, his eyes fluttering shut.

" _I'll fucking_   _kill you, slut_ ," he whispered, voice stern. 

Harry didn't know who this man was or why he was being threatened. The only thing Harry knew was that the man was too drunk for his own good and Harry was scared out of his mind. 

He never meant to hurt anyone. It wasn't his fault. He would never willingly screw anyone over. It's just what happened. Life isn't fair. That simple reality is what helped Harry get this far. 

This happened sometimes. Liam didn't have to know. Harry would get harassed and molested but it was fine. He couldn't always tell his pimp or else he'd become a nuisance. Like any salesman, sometimes his product was taken without pay. Harry bitterly thought of that poor old man down at the mart by his house. He'd stolen a lot from that store and almost never felt remorse for it.

"Keep quiet," the voice slurred as he removed his palm from smothering Harry's lips. 

His hands dug into Harry's hips, turning him so that his bare chest pressed into the wall. Harry whimpered, the cold tile burning his hot skin. 

He mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to cry. 

Everything went cold. It was like he was under water, drowning in the beat of the club. The bass wracked his head as the tile wall vibrated. He focused on that steady beat; the pulse, the life of the club, and nothing else. 

He felt the hot breath on the back of his neck, the teeth latching onto his flesh, the rough hands abusing his waist. 

All was silence.

"Get your fucking hands off him," he heard a firm voice say. Harry didn't have the energy to fight anyone else right now. He wasn't frightened. 

"Mind your own business, twink," the hot breathed voice bellowed, his grip on Harry tightening and eliciting sharp pain. 

" _Ah_ ," Harry whimpered, as he was shoved harshly into the wall again.

"Stop that," the hero's voice ordered. Harry just trembled against the wall as the two started yelling at each other, one of them drunk and slurring like a fool. He couldn't slip away because the brawl was so intense, every time he tried, fingers squeezed him even harsher. Harry was sure to be badly bruised after this.

"Just let go of him, please," the voice said, tiredly. Harry listened to the voice, and realized just then whom it was. He felt his heart rate jump a tad and his whole demeanor shifting with excitement. He felt like a dog, instantly perking up when their master walked in the room.

"Please, let him go," Louis sighed, exhaustively. Harry couldn't see him from the way he was pushed against the wall. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to see Louis's handsome face. 

"Why should I?" The tall man asked, no doubt looking down on Louis. 

"Because he has enough of this shit to deal with already. Please, I don't know what else to say, just leave him alone," Louis begged, his tone weak and powerless. Harry felt his chest contract and a shiver run up his spine. He swallowed, listening to the pulse of the club.

"Fuck, it's not worth it," The man answered hotly after a long pause. He released his hold on Harry, pushed through Louis and the bathroom door.

Harry didn't know what he expected to happen next. He slowly regained his stance, stepped away from the wall and walked over to the bathroom sinks. He saw Louis standing by the door, his back against the wall. He didn't speak.

Harry tried his best not to cry. He didn't know why he was feeling so emotionally driven today. He felt everything crashing down on him, caving in. The life he had built up for himself, his survival, his strength, his weakness, his ability, his composure, his apathy- _-everything_  he had was falling apart.

He looked at himself in the mirror, sniffled once. He shook himself out of it. He restyled his hair, wiped the trails of his smudged lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He touched the already blooming bruises on his side, smoothing his hand over them. 

He glanced into the mirror. He caught his own gaze, chewed his bottom lip. 

_He didn't know what to feel. He felt nothing. He felt sick. He felt sad, and broken. He felt angry. He felt lonely. He felt upset. He felt relieved. He felt happy. He felt unhappy. He felt used. He felt abused. He felt like shit. He felt like crying. He felt like dying. He felt dead. He didn't feel anything. He felt everything. He felt confused. He felt denied. He felt wrong. He felt right. He felt love. He felt spite. He felt resentment. He felt pride. He felt like he had nothing and no one, no where to go, no way to know. He felt like he was at the end. He felt like there wasn't anything to give, like there wasn't any way out of his situation. He thought about Mari's words and Keshia's eyes and Liam's hands and Louis's voice. He thought about his Momma, her warm arms. He thought about his home. He thought about his house. He thought about all the pain and suffering that surrounded the people in his world. It was nothing. They were all nothing. Nothing mattered. Fuck everything._

Harry took a shaky breath, a step back from the mirror and the sink. He walked toward the door, stopped and looked at Louis.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you," he spoke those rehearsed lines. Louis had a cold, stern look on his face, but that didn't stop Harry. He forced the tears from his eyes as he stepped closer, dusted his index finger down Louis's chest, further down, stopping at the waist of his pants. 

He felt so old, so used. He felt so worthless. Harry had nothing. He was nothing. He didn't have anything else to offer Louis. He only then realized how much of a fake he was. Louis would never forgive him for what he said and for what he did. Harry couldn't do anything else or be anything but this. He was a whore. He would die one. Indefinitely.

"There has to be something you want in return," Harry sighed. It was fucked up, how Harry was treating Louis like a stranger. He wasn't making reference to any of the hot nights they spent together, or the evenings Harry would show up and, in his heart,  _beg_  to be with him. Harry pretended. Harry always pretended. He acted like Louis was just another customer. Like Louis meant nothing to him at all.

"No," Louis grabbed his wrist, stopped him and removed his hands from their occupation. Harry startled back, surprised.

"There isn't," Louis said. He placed a soft hand on Harry's bare shoulder, gently pushed him aside, so he could exit the restroom.

Harry stood there cold and alone.

He really fucking  _hated_  being alone.

~ ❁ ~


	21. t w e n t y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is somewhat controversial and might be tad disturbing. some implied rape and also mentions some other het stuff pertaining Harry's character so, just beware. if you've gotten thus far, though, it shouldn't be too bad but idk.
> 
> that is all. proceed.

~ ❁ ~

"Get  _off_ me!" he could hear the echoing sobs from down the block.

Harry passed a shivering Joe and exhausted Sandra on the frozen street. He gripped the railing, cautiously walked up the concrete steps to the front porch while looking out for broken glass and ice patches. He slowly opened the door, creeped into the house.

"GET YOUR  _FUCKING_  HANDS  _OFF_ ME!" Harry cringed when he heard the chilling sound of Ira screeching. It was like hearing a dull blade slice through thick metal.

He stalked into the living room where Lauren sat on the couch, trying to shush her crying baby girl.

He took of his scarf and his gloves, folded them neatly and placed them on the arm of the couch. He looked around. The house was relatively empty. Liam wasn't home. No one was spending the night. Harry sighed.

He sat beside the mother, staring blankly at the sight of what was happening in the hallway.

Niall was beating on her. Like, for  _real_  this time. Harry shivered every time his fist connected with the weak girl's body. She was no match for him, but she was still trying to fight back. She wouldn't stop begging him to stop and he wouldn't stop hurting her.

"Please- _please_ ," she cried, her voice resonating through the house. 

Harry saw the malevolence in his body. It blazed like a scorching fire, devouring all that was good. The source of evil is a lack of empathy and awareness. And Niall had nothing but evil in his eyes.

He continuously hit her, picked her up by the collar of her shirt and pressed her into the wall. She just cried, and thrashed, choking on her sobs. 

"I'm not in the mood for this shit,  _bitch_ ," he snarled, emphasizing his words as he shoved her even harder against the wall.

The girl whimpered, just blubbering now as Niall's hands wrapped around her neck. 

Harry watched in horror, reminded of the marks left by his own perpetrator just hours ago. 

"Wanna die bitch?! I could kill you right  _fucking_  now," He asked rhetorically through his gritted teeth. Ira just cried even louder, tear tracks complimenting her red face and tangled hair.

Harry held his breath, as the girl went limp, her airways restricted. His heart was beating so fast for her.

"I'm sorry-I... _please_ ," she rasped, her body twitching slightly. She clawed at his strong hands, too weak to be able to pry them off of her windpipe.

"That's what I thought, whore," Niall let her go, watched her collapse on the hard floor. He then dragged her by her hair into the room. She didn't protest or object. She was too weak to fight now, wheezing and sobbing in surrender.

"Get the fuck out!" he yelled to the other girls. Harry watched as Liza and Keshia came stumbling into the hall, heaving like they'd seen a ghost.

The door slammed shut and the rest of the house was quiet.

As soon as she saw him, Keshia ran to Harry. He gathered her in his arms and held her close as she cried. He shushed her, lied some more as he told her it would all be okay. Just the sound of one of their sisters being raped in the room was enough for him to cry too. 

~ ❁ ~

Later that morning, when everyone was dead to the world, Harry was still wide awake. He couldn't sleep. He stared out the window in his dark bedroom, his arms wrapped around himself.

He stopped crying about an hour ago. He didn't have anymore tears left to shed. 

The house was an eerie silent. He felt on edge tonight. Outside the lamp posts were still bright. The sun hadn't risen yet. He watched the trash blow around the street, envious of its freedom.

He dug through his purse, pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He only had one left. He didn't normally smoke, but at times he needed something to clear his head when his voracious thoughts attacked him.

He took out his lighter, flicked it in his thumb a couple times to make sure it still worked. It had been so long since he last needed to do this.

He pushed the window up easily. The lock had been broken and the screen had been taken out some time ago. Harry thinks it might have been that way before he showed up here. He doesn't remember. 

He took out the single cigarette, lit it carefully with his shaking hands, and brought it up to his lips. He exhaled, then took in a long slow drag. 

He tried his best not to cough like a twelve year old on his first cig, but it had been awhile. He wasn't used to the burn in his lungs. He was careful, only blew the smoke out the window. They had two kids and a baby in the house now. He didn't want to taint the airways.

He sat there, thinking. It had also been quite some time since he actually sat down and thought about what he was doing with his life. He still had plans, hopes for the future. He still wanted to go places and build a home for himself. He wanted to settle down, have kids, and be a father. He loved kids. That's why it pained him every day to watch children lose their innocence in this house. None of them asked for this. 

He thought about irrational things, like, running away. He chuckled a little to himself. He used to think that would be so cool. He used to dream about the freedom he'd gain from such an endeavor. He wanted to laugh at the irony. 

Harry didn't know what he'd be doing right now if he hadn't left that night. He might have been sleeping in his bed at home, or in his dorm at college, or in his own apartment he shared with his attractive boyfriend. He might have been majoring in cosmetology or fashion design like he always wanted as a boy. He might have been working an internship. He might have gotten his license, then his own car. He might have visited his Momma for Thanksgivings and Christmases. He might have sipped iced tea of the porch on summer breaks, petting Tiger in his lap with his Momma sitting beside him. They might have talked about anything and everything together. Harry might have had a special somebody whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He might have asked her about married life, when a good time for a wedding would be. She might have laughed with him about it, and he might have smiled so much his cheeks hurt.

Before he realized it, his cigarette was gone. He took the last suck of relief from the stick, before he reached the filter and flicked the end out the window.

He breathed out again, slowly letting the smoke pour from his lips. After that, he was back where he was before.

_Alone._

He heard a soft knock on the door and he flinched out of habit. He knew it couldn't be Liam or Niall. They wouldn't have been so considerate, as to knock. He stood and went to the door, unlocked it, opened it.

Lauren stood there, patting the back of her child. Harry let her inside, tossed his bag on the floor so he could sit on the end of the bed.

"It's freezing in here," she said, her nose wrinkling. 

"Sorry," he whispered, hastily turned to shut the window. He pushed it down carefully, not to make a loud noise and wake the house.

Lauren looked completely wiped out. She had bags under her pretty blue eyes. She was so young, and Harry often forgot that in the real world she would be a freshman in high school.

"Is she keeping you up?" Harry asked, sitting down beside her. Lauren looked to him, nodded slowly. 

"Every time I put her down... she starts crying," Lauren yawned, mid-sentence. Harry looked at the little infant, clasping his hands together in his lap. She was adorable, he thought, with her coco brown eyes and supple pink skin. She was so innocent, yet she caused the most trouble. 

"Have you thought of a name for her yet?" Harry asked. It was his weakness. He loved babies more than anything. He would agree to watch the little bundle of joy more often if he could.

"I've been thinking about it," the young mother whispered into the dark room.

Harry listened, his eyes trained on the baby. She was constantly wriggling around in Lauren's arms, babbling and making tiny gurgling noises. Harry's heart melted.

"I want her to have Joe's last name. And my middle name," Lauren said. Harry nodded.

"I really like... Harrietta. Harrietta May Cardona," 

Harry smiled. "That's pretty." He said.

Lauren shifted the baby when she started moving, holding her in her arms instead.

"Wait..." Harry thought for a moment. He frowned, looking up to Lauren with confusion in his eyes.

"Is that..."

"Yeah," she said, tucking her hair back.

Harry felt his stomach flop. He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry at the same time. The fact that Lauren would have him in mind while she thought of names for her baby was so humbling.

"Why?" He asked, quietly.

"I don't know," she shrugged, staring at her little girl. "I think about you a lot. You mean a lot to me. You mean a lot to all of us. I just always want to look back at this place one day. When me and Joe are old and in rocking chairs and our little girl is grown up. I want her to know that you were with us every step of the way. I want her to know that if it weren't for you... she probably wouldn't have had a chance to live," 

Harry frowned. That wasn't true at all. Liam still threatened to take Lauren's baby away. He still eyed her like one day he might have her for his own. Harry still got sick in the mornings, sometimes, thinking about it.

"How?" He frowned, swallowing thickly.

"Because," Lauren sighed. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have had the courage to stand up to him. You've always listened to me and even though we don't always agree, you've never just... not cared. I ran away looking for someone to care about me. Sadly, I found the most love in bondage,"

Harry wrung his clammy hands together, listening to how earnest her voice sounded. He could hardly see her shadowy figure in the room. The only light was the moon shining through the window, illuminating the walls as cars drove past, and street lamps flickered.

"I know you don't realize it. But you're a good person," Lauren told him. She had such a soft way of putting things. She reminded Harry of his Momma, he came to understand.

"I'm not." He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He really didn't want to cry again. His eyes were already sore as his head was hurting because of the night he spent.

"You  _are_ ," Lauren said to him, patting his thigh. He covered his face with his hands, trembling as nonexistent tears welled in his eyes.

" _Friday_ ," Is all Harry mumbled. He couldn't utter the word any louder, lest his heart shatter. 

"Hm?" Lauren asked, leaning closer, listening for his words.

"I'm out of time," he rasped, inaudibly.

"Time for what?" She inquired, a furrow in her brow.

"Keshia. She has to be ready by Friday," Harry cried, wiping his eyes of the salty tears that fell. There had been a lot of crying going on the past few weeks. Harry wasn't sure what that meant. 

"Oh dear," she sighed, soothing him with her voice.

"I don't want to," Harry buried his face in his lap, weeped as quietly as he possibly could. He still heard himself, his voice hitting the walls of his bedroom. Lauren's shushing of both him and her baby.

"I know you don't," she rubbed his back, the touch of her small hand feather light.

He doesn't know how long he stayed like that. He doesn't recall when he decided to be a man. He had never allowed himself to cry in front of anyone and the very fact that he hadn't even cared was what woke him up. He didn't know what was happening. He was terrified. It was like he was about to go into surgery without the necessary anesthetics. He had no clue why he could feel this pain he was conditioned to ignore. 

"It's not your fault, Harry," she whispered. He felt her hand smooth across his shoulders.

He felt like it was his fault. He felt like Keshia would be fine if it weren't for him. If he didn't have to do this again, everything would be lovely even if nothing was.

"... it  _is_  my fault," he murmured, like a child in denial.

"No, no it's not. Liam is forcing you to do it. You know who you are.  _We_  know who you are. You'd never do something like this if it weren't for him," she reasoned, her sugar sweet tone like icing on a cupcake. Harry really wanted to believe her. Lauren was never wrong.

"I'd never hurt her," Harry sat up slowly, looking into Lauren's eyes with watery, wild ones. He had to convince  _somebody_.

"I know. You're so wonderful, Harry. Of course you would never," she replied, smiling at him sadly.

It was disgusting. Harry felt disgusting. It wasn't his fault, but he felt to blame. Lauren wasn't the first  _child_  Liam forced him to sleep with. She was the last. Liam had promised. He told Harry he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore because he was done collecting. They had a full house. Harry had thought he was finished with his sinful duties. He didn't want to venture through the gates of hell anymore. He'd been burned in the flames so numerously and he had too many scars to count. The first time it happened, he was eighteen. He sat for hours in his room afterwards. He cried his eyes to a pulp, and tore out his hair and sobbed into his bed. He hated himself. He just wanted to die after he'd done something so perverted and ungodly and abominable. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror for weeks as a result. 

When he looked at Keshia all he saw was innocence. He saw beauty and love and hope and light. He saw everything good. Her spirit burned through the dark halls of this house, out of touch and out of place. She didn't belong here. When he looked at Keshia, he saw the refreshing reminder that not all the world was hate and greed and lust. He saw happiness and he wanted to keep it that way.

Knowing that he was going to have to take that from her, along with her virginity, was what made him want to die the most.

"I'm gonna be sick again," he warned her, placing his hand over his mouth.

"Just calm down, Harry. Breathe. We don't need you having another panic attack at four in the morning. Come on, you'll wake the whole house up," she urged him.

"It's so  _hot_  in here," he moaned, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He could hear his own heart beating inside his skull. The blood was rushing to his head and it made him feel frantic.

"Please, Harry.  _Please_  don't get yourself all worked up," she pleaded, giving him a concerned look.

He breathed out and in, as she coached him, carefully. With one arm, she cracked the window a bit, as it had been when she first walked in. 

Lauren sat back down on the bed and made sure he wasn't feeling nauseous anymore. She offered to get him some water or a cold washcloth if he needed. He gratuitously declined, said he needed to try to get some sleep anyway.

"Can you tell her?" Harry asked as the tired mother stood to leave.

"Keshia? Yes." She said.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," he said, curling up on his bed. 

"It's alright,"

Before she left, he muttered a weak,   
" _I hope you can forgive me_ ,"

Lauren shook her head.   
"I don't need to. 'Wasn't your fault. Still isn't," she told him. She left the room with her baby, and Harry shivered in bed until sleep yanked him under the current.

~ ❁ ~


	22. t w e n t y - o n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another WARNING for disturbing stuff mentioned at the end where the pov shifts. also reiterating that Harry does _nothing_ heterosexual in this story whatsoever

 

~ ❁ ~

Harry didn't know what he expected when he walked into that club on Sunday night. He didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't remember. He wasn't expecting to walk out onto that lit stage in practically nothing and walk off with something like eight hundred dollars. He hadn't been expecting to be deemed the most popular among the other strippers. He hadn't expected them to pat him on the back, and squeeze him on the butt. He didn't think he would count up his money and not feel distraught about the numbers in his hands.

So overall it was a pretty good night, because all of those things happened.

He sat at the bar with a group of the other strippers. They ordered him drinks and showered him with compliments that made him blush all night. He was having so much fun and he wondered why he had never talked to any of them before.

"You're so gorgeous, Harry,"

"Your body is perfect,"

"Were you born voluptuous?" 

"How did you get your skin so clear?" 

"What conditioner do you use?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh with the boys. They all cared so much about their appearances. It was a damn shame that they couldn't be happy with who they were. It was a trend among the gay males here, Harry noticed. They worried so much.

"I sometimes worry about my facial hair. Some guys like it and some guys don't."

"I personally hate beards on other guys," 

"What do you think, Harry?" The blonde boy asked, nudging his arm. Harry sipped what must have been his sixth drink, swallowed before responding.

"I hate my facial hair. I... but I like beards on other guys," he hiccuped, thinking about how much he loved Louis's beard. It never went past certain scruff, but it felt so good against his face when they kissed, or- _or_ -between his thighs, scraping and  _burning_  his skin in all the right ways. 

"I fucking _love_  beards," Harry groaned. Suddenly, he was sad. He missed Louis. 

The other boys laughed. Harry felt kind of pathetic. He couldn't remember any of their names. He had so much to drink and he could hardly process anything except his craving for another.

"Shit, man. Remember last time we had a crowd like this?" Mark, or maybe Michael, slurred to one of the boys beside him. Harry bit his lip, propping his head up in his hand with his elbow against the counter.

"Don't think we ever had this big of a crowd since Harry showed up," the tanned brunette boy winked at him. Harry smiled, all dimples and bright red lips.

"Oh  _stop_ ," Harry giggled, watching as the bartender refilled his glass. 

"Seriously, though. You're incredible. I don't know how you do it," the guy on the left of him said. He was such a nice guy. A fairly pleasant acquaintance.

"Thank you. 'S kind of you to say," Harry murmured, getting a little too close to the man beside him. He was the biggest lightweight. He felt like he was about to collapse from his seat, swaying unsteadily.

"It's natural talent," another boy chuckled, a warm friendly hand patting his back.

Harry laughed. Everything was just so damn funny. He flipped his hair and licked his lips and flushed like a beet. The club was so hot, and his stomach was full of alcohol. He didn't even remember the last time he got drunk. The rush of the chemicals surging through his bloodstream made him feel like he was floating high in the clouds above the city and everyone else. He could fly like this, he mused.

He could hardly sit up right.

"Harry," a feathery voice spoke softly in his ear. He nearly snapped his neck to turn around and be faced with none other than his bearded savior. 

" _Louis_ ," he sighed, dashing from the bar stool to wrap his arms around the man. He felt Louis tense, but he slipped his hands around Harry's waist, held him anyway.

"Who's that Harry?" Some of the guys asked. It would seem a little strange, Harry supposed. Here he was, his face nuzzled in the neck of some strange man. Well, maybe not that strange.

Harry pulled back, biting his lip out of excitement. He turned back to the other strippers, snickered breathily as he told them his name.

"Is he your boyfriend?" One of them asked, the tallest one, the handsomest one. Not quite as handsome as Lou, here, but.

"Sadly no," Harry grinned, his fingers tightening in Louis's shirt. Louis rubbed his back, asked him what the occasion was. 

Harry frowned. He wasn't sure what the occasion was. He didn't think there was anything he should have been remembering. 

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" Louis asked, instead. He must have noticed how downright wasted Harry was. He could hardly stand and his heels made him feel really tall, like a giant. 

"Yep," Harry nodded, reaching behind him, blindly feeling around the counter for his purse. Once he had it secured on his arm, he turned back to the short man.

He just clung to Louis's arm as the older man led him through the crowds. It was cold outside. Harry could see his breath as they walked. 

"It's freezing," Harry whined, as Louis draped a coat over his back. He looked at the man, couldn't process his sea blue eyes and smooth chestnut hair. He really wanted to touch Louis.

"God, Lou. You're  _so_ fucking  _hot_ ," Harry growled, rambunctiously. Louis turned to him, a furrow in his brow.

"How much have you had to drink?" He asked, worriedly. Harry really loved the way Louis cared about him. It made him feel so special. He felt like he was the only boy in the whole wide world. 

"Not much. Just a few... one or two... maybe ten," Harry teased juvenilely, poking at Louis's chest. Louis just smiled fondly at him. Harry normally hated feeling small, or inferior in the eyes of other men. He used to hate being talked down on by Louis. But it was different. It felt different tonight. It wasn't aimed to subjugate him, but to endear him. That itty bitty sentiment felt damn good and Harry wasn't quite knowledgeable why. Maybe it was the attention Louis gave him. Louis fed into his besotted antics and Harry greatly appreciated that.

"Are you alright?" Louis asked, his hand so warm and so calloused but so pleasant against Harry's shoulder.

Harry frowned a little. "Why wouldn't I be alright... did something happen?" He asked. He fumbled, nearly loosing his balance on his fucking stilettos.

"No. I just...  _woah_. I just wanted to make sure," Louis held him firmly around the waist, steadying him. Harry always knew his legs would be the death of him.

"I think I'm okay. Apart from- yeah, I'm good," Harry said, looking at Louis with bright eyes. Louis smiled, before maneuvering them over to a sidewalk bench Harry hadn't even known to exist.

They sat down, Harry gripping the armrest for support. 

"I wasn't expecting you to be so drunk," Louis sighed, his breath making puffs of air rise into the night sky.

"Sorry," Harry whimpered, resting his head on Louis's shoulder. Louis draped his arm around Harry, held his close, kept him warm.

"No,  _I'm_  sorry. For everything. I just... needed to say that." Louis said, genuinely. Harry couldn't do much other than hum in response, feel the vibrations travel through Louis's warm chest as he spoke. In that moment, he felt there was no other place in the world he'd rather be.

"I was going to... I don't know, suggest we start over. If you want. I was gonna ask you out tomorrow night, but-" Louis stammered.

" _What?_ " Harry asked fervently, sitting up straighter, looking Louis in the eye. He had to have heard wrong if he thought Louis was actually saying those words to him, meaning it sincerely, without a trace of sarcasm.

"I was going to... ask if you'd come to this restaurant with me tomorrow night. It's a small place, but the food is good. I wanted to know if there was any chance of you saying yes," Louis mumbled, shyly. In the dim street lights, Harry watched with intrigued eyes as Louis spoke. His tips of his hair dusted so lightly against the flutter of his eyelashes. His eyebrows lifted and his lips drew taut. Harry really wanted to kiss his stupid face.

"What do you mean you  _were_   _going_  to?"

Harry didn't really need to ask that. Anyone with a brain could glean from their situation that it wasn't the easiest task asking Harry out on a date. He was cold and bitter and masked every single emotion ever known to mankind. Louis was the bravest man Harry had ever met to still be here in his life; to still be reaching out to him, subjecting himself to rejection.

"I mean... I didn't know if you were going to even look me in the eye. Or push me away or ignore me or act like you didn't even know me," Louis replied, sadly. 

Harry felt guilt form in his chest. He never meant to be such a bitch to Louis. Louis didn't deserve to be treated like that. He never did anything to hurt Harry or said anything to damage him permanently. He was such a good guy. He was a fucking legend in bed. He was handsome and funny and he had a great ass and a big dick and Harry couldn't fathom a reason to hate him. Maybe it was his intoxication speaking, but Harry thought Louis was a pretty nice catch.

"I never know what to expect from you," Louis said, endearingly. He didn't sound upset about it. He sounded like whatever Harry did to him, or continued to do to him, he would never give up because  _something_  kept him crawling back bruised and battered each time. 

"Sorry," Harry whispered again, like it was the only word his mouth knew how to form right now.

"Can we start over, Harry?" Louis asked the drunken boy. Harry glanced up to him, his eyes big and apologetic.

"Yes," Harry agreed. It was probably for the best. There wasn't a single reason to continue such a childish game. Harry was twenty one years old. He knew what he wanted. He was so tired and so weary all the time. Everything in his life was one continuation. He never got a break. Louis was his refreshment. Harry wanted him in his life, so he said yes. It all seemed pretty simple. Like colors and shapes and numbers. Even if he was drunk off his ass.

Louis went to dig in his jacket pockets. "Can I give you the address? It's just a little shop on the other side of town. Or if tomorrow doesn't work for you we could do something else? You have my number if you-"

"Yeah. I can meet you there. What time?" Harry asked, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. He felt excited, like he was anticipating his date with Louis. 

"Six," Louis said, smiling at him.

"Okay," Harry nodded, as Louis slipped him the second piece of paper with the words on it.

"You need a ride home?" Louis asked, placing his hand on Harry's back.

Harry didn't want to say yes. He'd never wanted Louis to know where he lived. But even as incoherent as he was he knew it wouldn't be smart to try to find his way home drunk. Louis was still here, after all the horrible drama Harry had put him through. The least he could do was let Louis get him home safely.

"Yeah," Harry looked up as Louis stood. Louis helped him to his feet, made sure he was stable. Then they walked to his car together, and Harry let Louis hold his hand.

~ ❁ ~

Lauren sat down on the end on the bed, Keshia sitting by her side. She had just put baby Harrietta down for a nap and the house was relatively calm.

Joe hadn't been for the idea of naming the baby after Harry. She had objected, saying that it wasn't his child and he had no part in raising it. Lauren didn't know why she wanted to name her child after Harry. She felt that it wasn't going to mean anything to give the baby Rachaels and Claires that held no meaning to them in particular. That wouldn't be special. Lauren really was scared her first night here. From that day on, she was convinced she had a crush on Harry. He was just so sweet and kind and gentle. He never wanted to hurt anybody and he hated to do the things he was forced. She couldn't understand why such a level headed young man ended up in this life.

It wasn't like he was a foster child, a throwaway by every family that received him. That was Lauren's story. She always dreamed of finding home. She wanted love. That's all. When she set out to find love she was much too young not to be taken off the streets like she was. It would've been even more dangerous for her if she hadn't. That's what Lauren told herself, anyway.

No, Harry was never a throwaway. Lauren didn't know much, but she knew Harry had a mother who loved him very much and wanted him to come home.

She knew he wasn't raised to live this life. Lauren sometimes spoke to Mariana and Ira about getting out. It was very rare that Harry's name didn't come up in any of those conversations. She wanted nothing more than to set him free.

If she could, she would, but she can't right now.

Things had gotten so bad she worried every night. It wasn't always the baby that kept her up, it was her thoughts. She knew the silent cries that echoed in the darkness. She felt the pain of a heavy fist colliding with her bones. She knew the heat of a stranger, laid awake in agony after the thought.

Lauren knew. She knew all of it.   
And it hurt her.

She may have only been fifteen, but she comprehended a grief that well exceeded her years. 

"Harry told me that on Friday," Lauren started, watching the way Keshia's eyes lit up ever so slightly at the sound of his name.   
"You're going to have to be ready to take customers,"

Keshia gave Lauren those big brown eyes and the older girl felt her heart ache.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Keshia asked, hurt.

Lauren sighed. She didn't know how she was going to break the news to this beautiful child. As a mother, she acknowledged that Keshia was someone's baby girl, just like Harrietta was hers. It was just so heart wrenching. Lauren wasn't sure she could take the stress of breaking her. She didn't want to bear the weight of hurting her.

Then she thought about Harry.  
And what he had to do. She knew deep down this would never compare.

"My first time," Lauren said, softly, glancing down to her lap.  
"Was with Harry,"

Keshia didn't reply. She just sat there with her hands on her knees, staring at the floor.

"I was fourteen. So not much older than you. I was so scared, when I first got here. But he was so calm and careful with me. I don't know how he did it." Lauren reminisced. She remembered the night very well. She cried to Harry about wanting to go home and that she wasn't ready to lose her virginity or sell her body to strangers. She just wanted a home. She wanted acceptance, love, and she wanted a chance. Harry listened to her, let her talk and never stopped her from expressing her feelings. She remembered the night Liam screamed at Harry. He was crying and begging him because he didn't want to do it. Liam threatened him, and that was the end of it.

"What?" Keshia asked, a horrified expression mapping her pretty face.

"Look, he wouldn't do this if he didn't have to. You understand that right?" She said, placing her hand on Keshia's back. The young girl tensed under her touch, betrayal in her eyes.

"He cares for you. Please don't be angry,"

Keshia had the same blank expression on her face. Lauren wished she could do something to calm her, the way Harry did her.

"I think a lot about that night. I don't know why. I think... he's just the only man I've ever slept with who cared about me,"

Keshia still didn't say a word. Lauren was worried. When she first found out what Harry had to do, she wasn't really in favor of it either. Liam wasn't having the excuses Harry spouted. Harry knew it would be so cruel to give a virgin to a customer, have their first time be so brutal. It was toxic either way. Harry wanted to help, but at the same time he hated it. The only alternate option is what kept him from combusting; knowing he was doing something good (better at least).

"He's very sweet with you. He'll be gentle." Lauren assured her, with a sad smile. Keshia frowned.  
"Just relax. Let him teach you what to do."

"I thought he was my friend," Keshia murmured, tears slowly leaking from her eyes.

"Sweetheart, no. He is our friend. He's only doing it because he cares about you too much to let you have to go through it unprepared," Lauren stressed, feverishly assuring the poor child. She was afraid this would happen.

"Why did he say all those things and... lie to me. He  _promised_. How could he lie right to my face?" Keshia asked, rhetorically.

Lauren didn't know what to say. She knew Harry did everything he could not to straight up lie to her, but sometimes it was difficult. They had to teach her to survive. It was no longer about personal feelings or trust or love. It was about making it out alive. Keshia would have to learn that or else she wouldn't last here.

"I know you're upset, but please, understand that we're trying to help. That's all we're doing." Lauren told the skeptical child. She tried to touch her, soothe her perforated soul. Keshia flinched back, like she'd been scathed.

Lauren just sighed, accepted it when Keshia stood from the bed and stomped out of the room, ran to the bathroom and locked herself behind the door.

Keshia needed time to gather this. She hoped that's all it was and the girl would come to accept this as her new reality. Lauren really hoped the pain would eventually subside.

Then again, it never really did.

~ ❁ ~


	23. t w e n t y - t w o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should probably have a WARNING about the rape in this chapter. sorry.

~ ❁ ~

The ride wasn't as awkward as Harry had worried. He directed Louis where to turn and what roads to take. He wasn't in favor of taking Louis anywhere near his house, but he was so drunk that the moving car felt like a roller coaster and he couldn't imagine trying to get home any other way. He knew Louis would get him there safely.

"Wow," Louis gasped to himself as he drove into the neighborhood. The streets were littered, the cars were junkers, the houses were in poor shape. Harry smiled to himself.   
_Home_ , he thought.

"Turn left," Harry said, gripping the door of the car.

Louis rounded the corner and it was like they were in a whole new world. Harry bit his lip and looked over at Louis, nervously. It's not like Louis didn't know he was a prostitute. He knew very well indeed. It was just a bit of a culture shock for the older man, Harry assumed.

All along the street there were girls and their pimps, some advertising, some collecting profits, and some negotiating with customers. Liam wasn't the only one hustling in this city. Sex was in high demand. Louis kept his eyes on the road, awaiting Harry's direction.

"Make a right at the... uh, yeah. Here," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eye.

Louis cleared his throat, uncomfortably. Harry kept a close eye on Louis as the man drove slowly, carefully. The amount of traffic on the road was immense. The constant stopping and honking is what had Louis most concerned.

They were stopped a few times. Some girls tapped on the glass of Louis's car to hustle. He rolled the window down and they saw Harry, waved excitedly. He smiled back at them, still too drunk to process anything.

They got through the line of cars eventually. Harry pointed the house out to Louis at the end of the street.

"Last one on the right," Harry got his purse and his heels together in his hands, preparing to go.

He adjusted his groin, pulled his tight black fabric of his ripped jeans free from constricting his dick. He reached into his bag, retrieved his lipstick and put some on just in case. If Liam was home he didn't want the man thinking he was doing anything but working that night. He still had to play it safe.

Louis stopped the car beside the curb. He silently examined the house as Harry unbuckled his seatbelt.

"So... tomorrow? Six," Harry looked over to the man, moving his things to his right hand so he could reach over to grab Louis's hand.

"Huh? Oh, yeah-yes. Six," Louis confirmed. He held Harry's hand in his for a moment, gave it a tiny squeeze.

"I'll meet you there," Harry assured him. He gave Louis one last smile before he was disconnecting his hand and popping the car door open.

"Bye," Louis waved to him, a shy smile on his face. Harry waved with his left hand, closed the door back, and watched as the car started moving again.

Harry unsteadily walked up the stairs and pushed the unlocked door open. 

He had sobered only slightly since the car ride and his vision was still blurry. He clutched his things close as he stepped into the house. He wasn't sure what to expect. He never was.

Liam wasn't home, as usual lately, and the house was relatively quiet. He went to the hallway, curious as to why that was, when he found Lauren sitting on the floor by the bathroom, her ear pressed to the door.

If Harry wasn't so drunk he would have been able to guess what happened without asking.

"What's wrong?" He slurred, his eyes wide. He got a little slow when he was this wasted.

"I told her," Lauren said, sadly.

"Oh- _oh_ , okay," Harry stammered, placing his free hand on the wall to gain some stability.

"Are you okay?" Lauren asked, innocently.

He didn't respond until almost a minute later.  
"Just--yeah... good." He insisted, slowly, waving in dismissal.

"Well... I don't know what to do. She won't come out," Lauren fussed, her cheeks rosy. She got so flustered over the most minuscule things. Harry thought she was damn cute.

"Lemme..." Harry mumbled, stumbling closer. Still gripping his purse and shoes, he slid down the wall and sat with his back to the door.

He lifted his left hand to his forehead, groaning at his approaching headache.

Harry raised his hand and knocked on the door with two of his knuckles.

"Uh-oh," Lauren sighed. "Harrie's up,"

Harry flinched, thinking she was talking about him. It took some time, but eventually he registered the crying baby from the girls' room. He smiled, remembering.

Lauren stood up and quickly made her way down the hall to her room.

Harry exhaled.

"... Keshia?" He called. He could hear faint sniffling coming from inside the bathroom. He felt horrible.

"No," she answered, the felt betrayal evident in her voice.

"What's wrong," he asked with a heavy sigh.

"... don't want to talk to you," she grumbled, angrily. Harry carded one hand through his long hair, pulling a bit. He didn't even know how to respond. This was to be expected, yet he still found himself conflicted.

"I'm sorry, Keshia. Please...  _please_  don't be mad at me," he begged, frustratedly. He let his head knock back against the wall. He wanted her to understand. This wasn't fair and he wanted to make it right.

"You lied to me! You promised and you lied. I really thought..." he paused, a distraught sob leaving her vocal chords. Harry shivered. "I don't want to talk to you... just please, go away." She cried, her voice echoing against the bathroom tiles.

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there. He rested his head against the door, like he saw Lauren doing. He traced his index finger along the wood, listening to the broken hearted child just a few inches from him. He hated hurting her. He hated hurting people in general, but this was shattering. He really adored this girl. She was so important to him. To hear her so upset, and knowing it was his fault, completely tore him in a way he couldn't quite describe.

Lauren reemerged with little Harrie, rocking the child in her arms. Harry didn't move.

Joe and Sandra came inside for the night and Harry was still sitting there, eyes downcast. He stared at the muggy carpet. He had gotten so many rug burns on this floor, he thought. The night he had to take Lauren, he remembered Liam had dragged him down the hall to her room. Harry fought and screamed and cried, but Liam only gave him two options. Harry always knew he cared far too much.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, the moment the crying subsided.

Silence.

"... you don't have to talk to me. I won't make you, but please come out so other people can use the bathroom," he told her, softly, like a mother would.

He felt some hot water burn his eyes and wet his cheeks, he sniffed and wiped his face. He heaved himself up into a standing position, still carrying his things, and walked to his room.

He dropped his bag and his shoes on the floor, then collapsed on his unmade bed. His room smelled like stale sex and it made him nauseous. He'd been needing to change his sheets but he hadn't got around to it yet.

He didn't even care. He was drunk and he was sad. He yanked the sheet over his clothed body and cried.

He was just so heart broken. He felt like he had scared her off; pushed her away. She didn't trust him anymore. She probably hated him now. Harry had really tried, he had done his best to keep her safe-guarded from the truth. He most certainly didn't want, or intend to let her down like this.

He cried in his room like a bitch; pathetic, he was. He was too out of it to care. He choked on his sobs, his hair falling all into his face and sticking to his salty cheeks. He could hear his own voice resonating against his bedroom walls. He was so sick and tired of crying. His head was hurting and he was so uncomfortable, but he couldn't stop. The tears weren't letting up. His chest was on fire, burning him from the inside out. He'd never wanted to die so much in his life.

Lauren found him that way, curled up under the sheets, water and mucus seeping out of him. She stripped the sheets off of him with a wrinkle in her nose. She combed the hair back from his face and out of his eyes. She sat down on the mattress beside his limp frame, shushed him and rubbed his back until he stopped wailing.

"Come on, Harry. Up," she coaxed him, her hand soft and firm against his lower back. He sat up like a child, still wary.

"No use," she told him. And he knew that. Harry was well aware his tears would do nothing but make things harder to cope with.

Eventually, she got him to help her change his sheets. He weakly tucked them over the mattress while she balled up the old ones and stuffed them into the dirty laundry. She sat on the bed and took one of his pillows, put a fresh case over it. Harry appreciated it, really.

As soon as they finished, he laid on the bed and let his head rest in Lauren's lap. She pet his hair and murmured comforting things to him. She told him about her day, how painless it was. She told him how hard it was to tell Keshia the truth. Harry was all wailed out by then, so he didn't cry as hard at her words. It still broke him, in a particular way. He didn't know much, but he was quite familiar with how it felt to wish he could change the way things were.

Harry stared sideways at the bedroom floor. When his sniffles ceased, he could actually hear the familiar sounds of the house.

And sometimes Harry laid awake to the noises of the place he was accustomed to dwelling in for far too many years. He'd clutch his pillow to his chest in the dark of midnight and hear the girls arguing with Niall. He would often hear the shrill of their screams and the echo of their cries when Liam punished one of them. Harry hated living here.

Joe was in the kitchen with Sandra, rummaging through the cabinets no doubt, in search of something to eat. Harry swallowed the late taste of intoxication. His high was slowly fading and he could feel all of it.

"I met someone," Harry whispered. He closed his eyes to the subtly brush of Lauren's fingertips against his bicep, thinking that the soft touch of a mother had to be innate.

"Hm? Like a special someone?" Lauren asked, voice calming.

Harry hummed.

"What's his name, then?" She asked, moving her other hand from his hair to his back, rubbing the tautness from his shoulders.

"Louis," Harry murmured. "... he's taking me out, tomorrow,"

"... that's real nice," she said, distantly.

Harry thought it was a damn shame.

"... have fun, okay? It'd be good to get out for a little while,"

Harry didn't reply. He was already feeling sleepy by that point. He kept his eyes closed and let the lull of Lauren's voice whisk him away.

He was just slipping on the edge of dreamworld, growing far too comfortable than he'd normally allow, when the slam of the front door was heard.

He didn't think much of it at first; was sad, too tired and still recovering from his poor decisions. He'd made enough of them to last a lifetime.

Harry heard Liam's vicious bark from down the hall. He'd been surprised, having not seen nor heard from Liam in a long couple of days. The drunk boy sat up from Lauren's embrace, giving her a sad smile and a 'thanks' he'd never feel would suffice before standing up.

"Where the fuck is Harry? Huh?" Liam growled, probably at one of the innocent empty souls in the kitchen. Again, the house was small and Harry could hear almost everything. He wasn't sure why Liam sounded so ruthless. If he wanted something, anything-Harry would give it to him.

"Where is he?!" Liam bellowed, to which Harry heard stammering replies. Most of the girls were scared shitless of Liam when he was in a mood. Harry didn't think he was afraid of that anymore. He wasn't allowed to be.

Liam came stomping down the hall and Harry reached the door of his bedroom in just enough time to open it and to be faced with his pimp. He rubbed his tired eyes and combed a long irritating piece of his hair behind his ear with his finger.

"I'm right here." Harry answered timidly, clinging to the doorframe. He glanced at Liam, took in his red glazed eyes and flushed sweaty cheeks. Liam was wearing what looked like a hoodie, gym shorts and white sneakers. But it was winter, Harry confusedly thought.

"I need you," Liam snarled, quickly snatching Harry by the elbow. Harry frowned, but then sighed, mentally willing his urge to protest into submission. He did belong to Liam after all, and Liam could do with him what he pleased.

"... okay," Harry stumbled over his own feet to follow Liam. Liam didn't care that Harry hadn't yet gather his steps-he never cared. He only had one task in mind.

Harry lost his breath as Liam's bedroom door was opened and he was thrusted inside.

Liam's light was off since he just got home. Harry was slightly trembling, the cold wood floor of the room traveling up his body from the bare soles of his feet. He was still in his tight jeans and his shirt from earlier. He'd meant to change for bed but he hadn't yet had the opportunity. He wondered what Liam wanted with him and when he'd be set free.

Liam's lips were on his in a matter of seconds. Harry let his eyes flutter shut as Liam devoured him, his slick tongue invading Harry's mouth. He gripped Harry's waist, pressed their bodies together and pushed Harry's back against the wooden door.

The silence of the dark was unnerving, for Harry. He peeked around every now and again, looking for any hint of what Liam was planning. It wasn't like he'd never gotten a shove out of the bed at two am before, when Liam came home late from his colleague's apartment or a buddy's crack house from down town high and completely out of it. Harry was his favorite for a reason. His services were needed.

Liam roughly tangled his hand in Harry's long hair, yanked his head back so the sound of it thumping against the door was audible.

Liam was back in his mouth again, suffocating him with the hot, putrid lust. Harry physically could not move a muscle nor tendon in his body. And that was a feeling that made him anxious when Liam's hands were on him.

He knew Liam could slip his hands around his neck, crush his windpipe and take his life if he so desired. Liam could place his salty hand over his mouth, push his body to the flat surface of the door and restrict his breathing if he wanted. Liam could hurt him, tear him apart and scar him for life if he seemed it necessary. Liam had the power to do so. All the power was his to wield.

Harry slipped his arms around Liam's neck, letting his fingers link together. He needed some stability and after years of rape, Harry knew how to survive.

Liam's hand that wasn't abusing his hair was placed just on the side of Harry's face, thumb stroking his jawline in a strange sort of tenderness. Harry couldn't breathe or contemplate what was happening, but he thought that was okay. There was no such thing as comfort in the cave of the beast.

Everything crawled under his skin, from the pressure of Liam's hips against his to the slick, wet sounds of their kissing.

"You taste like... like alcohol," Liam stuttered, clearly having taken something himself.

"Um. Yeah, I had a drink... or two," Harry told his pimp, being as honest as possible to avoid future accusations.

"Mhm," Liam said, leaning back in for a long, slow kiss that time, the burn of his untrimmed beard lingering on Harry's face. Liam pulled away and gave Harry a glare, which probably wouldn't have made Harry feel so nervous of it were during the day and Liam wasn't high.

Liam trailed his lips to the corner of Harry's jaw, just below his ear and told him, "... take your clothes off,"

He shivered, feeling helpless as Liam's hands tugged at his shirt impatiently.

"Okay, just lemme... okay," Harry frantically agreed, trying to nudge Liam away so he could have the space to strip. There was nothing he hated more than these nights.

Liam stood back and watched, his heated gaze giving Harry an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

And it was all very weird. Harry was used to stripping in front of Liam, performing sexual favors for him as an act of gratitude, even got aroused for him although his heart and mind winced at the thought. He did what he had to. He was numb to things like this for so long, but for some strange reason tonight he felt... not only ashamed, but embarrassed.

He yanked his shirt from his torso, pulled it over his head. Liam snatched it away, instantly tossing it to the corner of the room, consumed by the shadows of darkness. His jeans and briefs came next, and he folded himself in half to reach the button. He pushed the tight fabric down his thighs and then anxiously peeled them from his legs. He didn't want to keep Liam waiting.

Liam took his clothes and shoved him toward the bed, which he climbed onto immediately. He got on his hands and knees; the way Liam normally wanted him on nights like these. He was conditioned to obey and not to speak, so he hung his head low and foreboded the inevitable.

Harry closed his eyes to the sound of Liam undressing, then digging in his drawer for lube, maybe a condom. He hoped, anyway.

He felt alleviation wash over him when Liam fumbled with the wrapper, muttering to himself despite his dazed state.

Harry breathed in deeply, steeling himself as effectively as possible before he felt Liam's hard dick pressing to his hole.

There was absolutely no prep to speak of. Harry hated when Liam was this out of it because he was careless. It wasn't on purpose, he just wasn't himself. The last time Liam took Harry this way he bled like crazy and had to go to the hospital. But it wasn't like he could stop him, or tell him no. His job was to please Liam.

Harry also had to keep quiet because it was late and the others, if they weren't already, would soon be coming in and going to sleep. He bit his bottom lip, staring at Liam's crumpled pillows.   
He was stuck.

Harry's fingers curled into the sheets as Liam lunged forward, pushing his cock into him without warning.

Harry felt his heart racing as the slow ripping feeling surged through his whole body. His legs quivered where he knelt, arms wobbling in a weak attempt to keep the weight of his body from collapsing.

Liam grunted, a weak moan escaping him as he thrusted his hips up sharply. Harry squeezed his eyes tight, willing the pain to dissipate.

"Fuck," Liam groaned as he began to fuck Harry for real, a good steady rhythm to start the night off. Harry wanted to cry, but he knew he was stronger than this. He had taken Liam's rape for long enough and there was no need for his tears.

He was feeling so emotional. Tonight was sucking more than he thought it would. All Harry could think was that it was probably what he deserved from cheating and sneaking around behind everyone's back. He wished he'd never done it but at the same time, he could never take it back if faced with the opportunity.

Liam rocked back and forth, his hands tightly wrapped around Harry's hips, keeping him steady, keeping him there. He was mumbling things into Harry's back with each thrust, almost-whispers that Harry couldn't hear well enough to understand.

When Liam's pace increased, Harry really did start to cry. It was silent, and he didn't realize what it was until the drops of water crept down the side of his face and dripped onto the sheets.

Harry tried not to focus on the source of his pain--the sharp and constant hit of Liam's cock inside of him-instead, he let his mind wander to something more enjoyable, and happy.

He had a special place he would go in his mind when all turned to shit.

He would think about his Momma, imagine her sitting at home in her rocking chair in the summer, reading with an iced tea perched on the porch table beside her. He imagined Tiger's fluffy tail waving back and forth against her leg, keening for her attention. He imagined life before all the pain and the suffering.

He had a fantasy world where no one could hurt or be hurt, where the sun always shined and the leaves never left the trees bare and exposed. There was no shame and no pain. People were happy and he would be reunited with his Momma just in time for dinner in the evening. He would sit in the fields behind their house in spring, pick daisies and grass with the kiss of the sun against his rosy cheeks. In summer he would dip in the neighborhood pool, stick his toes in and giggle when he decided not to dive, the cool drops splashing against his singed skin from those that had. He would sip hot apple cider in autumn, bundled in a cozy sweater with Tiger in his lap, mewling and preening his paws. He'd hear the crunch of leaves under his feet, listen to the whistle of the wind over the sound of his Momma hollering at him to come inside for supper. In winter he could build snowmen and decorate the Christmas tree, sing carols and go to church with his Momma on the Eve, like a good boy.

In his own world, Harry was perfect - as was life. He'd never hurt anybody; lied, cheated or stolen. He'd  _always_  been a good boy. He'd always been good, and pure. In his version, life was painless.

"Take it so well, babe.  _Shit_ ," he heard, but it sounded distant, like Harry was tuning in from the opposite end of a tunnel, or watching the scene happen from an outsider's point of view.

His hair fell further into his eyes with each heavy pound, Liam's hips colliding with his backside roughly, remorselessly.

"Don't know what I'd do without you... Y-you're  _mine,_ " Liam mumbled into the back of his neck, kissing him there, marking him with his teeth. Harry frowned at the possessive declaration. He was well aware of who he belonged to.

He shook his head frantically when Liam started to slow his thrusts. He was pretty sure he knew where this was headed and he didn't want to be caught in it again.

Liam's hand slithered down Harry's side, wrapped around the base of his obviously soft cock and began stroking him, touching him in a cold uncomfortable way that made Harry want to tear his skin off.

He breathed, trying to stay as silent as possible. Try as he might to remove himself from the current situation, he couldn't stay in his happy place when Liam was deliberately trying to make him feel. It elicited singing hot bile to the back of his throat.

"That's it... good... so good for me," he slurred, his lips mapping Harry's shoulders. Harry was tired of feeling humiliated like this. He closed his eyes; refused to think about it as his body reacted to the stimulation.

The weight of his hard cock eventually filled Liam's palm. Harry's breathing picked up even more, terrified of being vulnerable with this Liam. This Liam wasn't careful or considerate in any way. He was selfish and reckless. Even more so.

He panicked slightly, wriggled his limbs when Liam started giving him firm strokes to distract him from the feeling of being torn open.

"Be good for Daddy," Liam ordered, reminding him of his position. He tried his best not to lose control over himself as blood rushed to his head.

Soon Liam was giving him firm, deep cants of his hips instead of fast ones, indicating that this was far from over. Harry cried as quietly as possible, sniffling when he could no longer see past his bittersweet agony.

Liam began to push harder and harder, aiming his thrusts, seeking Harry's prostate. It made Harry tremble with fear, knowing Liam would try to do this. Harry honestly wished Liam would just fuck him and get it over with. He didn't want any part of this.

"Does that feel good, Princess?" Liam asked, sucking a bruise into the spot between his neck and shoulder as his hips rocked up. Harry whimpered, the grip of his hand solidifying against Liam's old sheets. His lips gaped as Liam clumsily jacked him at the same time, insistent in getting Harry off. Harry couldn't help it. The tears streamed down his face, but he couldn't stop this. He didn't want to have sex with Liam. He never did, but he had no power.

"Fucking...  _answer_  me," Liam gritted, landing a harsh slap to Harry's right ass cheek.

"Yes, Daddy," Harry whispered spitefully, closing his eyes in despair. His body lunged forward with each rough glide of Liam's cock against his abused walls. He tried not to find any pleasure in it, but Liam had him in every way he wanted him in. The head of his latex covered dick pressed against that soft spot deep inside his body and he couldn't contain the wrecked sob that tore past his vocal chords.

"Yeah... like that?" The rhetorical question was asked, to which Harry replied with a very loud, very coherent gasp of "Daddy," which the whole house was sure to have heard.

"'Told you to be quiet. Can't... listen," Liam grumbled to himself, voice shot. And he hadn't, but Harry didn't care anymore. This was Liam's game. He would play it in every way he saw fit to. He was the boss.

Liam moved up quickly, using the hand that was attending to Harry's cock to grab at his hair and lift his head from where it hung lowly between his shoulders.

Harry let out a pained moan in surprise. He cried some more at the feeling, fat tears streaking down his face. Liam's hands weren't kind. They jerked at his hair, caused pain to burn through his scalp.

"... d-daddy," he cried loudly, wishing Liam would understand and be a little gentler. Harry could take the rape- he could. He just didn't understand why Liam needed to hurt him too. He hadn't done anything worth punishment. That Liam knew of, anyway.

"Hush, now," The stoner ordered, the harshest Harry had heard all night. Harry closed his eyes again, tried his very best to lay still and take it; tried not to fuss when Liam removed his hand from his hair, decidedly clasping a palm over Harry's mouth instead.

But he couldn't help it. Harry let out a anxious sob, which was muffled by Liam's hand. Once Liam was sluggishly pushing his hand farther up Harry's face, nearly covering his nose as well, Harry started to panic. Using one hand to hold himself up, he began to tug at Liam's tightly gripped fingers with his other. He could barely breathe and it was fucking scary. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he strained his body to free himself. Liam could definitely feel him struggling, but it was fairly obvious he didn't care.

Instead, Liam pinned him down with his weight, effectively forcing him to take it. Then he was speeding his thrusts again, hot and heavy like an engine. He was close.

Harry's resistance was weakened. Liam quickly overpowered him with a merciless blow to the side of his head; with one arm around Harry's hips, he moved the other up to knock his elbow against Harry's temple. Harry collapsed in agony, pushed his face down into the mattress to shield himself of anymore physical abuse. 

He let out a useless wail as Liam took away his ability to protest. Liam rashly twisted Harry's wrists and pinned them behind his back, then painfully shoved his chest down into the bed. With Liam's hand gone it still wasn't any easier for him to breathe, since his face was mashed into the bedding and he had no way to move his hair out of his face. Harry could only moan in despair against the sheets, tears and saliva dampening the cloth against his cheek.

"Be a good girl now, don't make me hurt you," Liam warned, and somewhere not too deep inside Harry, wanted to know if Liam really didn't think he already had. It had been years, but maybe Liam genuinely thought he'd been doing something good, and right this whole time. The thought made Harry's skin crawl.

"...  _please_ ," he voiced his harm, begging Liam to stop. It's all he could do. Somewhere in his subconscious mind, Harry did know it was useless. Liam had one thing in mind - one task at hand; and not a drop of empathy in his pitch black soul. Whether he was under the influence or not, Liam would do evil. It's just the way things were. And Harry ought to have been smart enough to know that by now; not to question it. But there was something nagging him to do something this time- something driving him mad at the atrocity of what  was happening and willing him to use what little power he did have in order to survive unscathed.

But Liam didn't stop. With a firm hold on Harry's arms he used as leverage to fuck him harder. Liam grunted with every thrust, the slap of his hips against the back of Harry's thighs enough to spur him on. He just kept going and going and all Harry could do was lay there with knowledge of his pathetic failure. This was the reason he didn't try to stand up for himself; he knew Liam was stronger than him, and could control him, so even if he did say no, Liam would push him down and take from him anyway. Harry stared at the dark bed linen as Liam pleasured himself, tried his best not to focus on his surroundings.

Eventually, Liam's thrusts grew frantic, untimed; and the next thing Harry registered was his entire body seizing up. Harry couldn't understand how Liam could live with this deed on his mind. He just didn't get how Liam could go right ahead and stay hard, knowing he was raping somebody. Liam must have been getting off to the pain he inflicted upon Harry. He could plead all he wanted, but Liam just kept going because he wanted to. Kept hurting him and hurting him over and over and over again out of malice.

Harry cried and cried, but once Liam made his decision, all efforts were useless.

The moment Liam came, he collapsed. Harry shuddered as the remainder of his body was pushed into the mattress beneath Liam, muscles paling in comparison to the older man's weight.

Harry couldn't breathe. He didn't hear Liam, so he assumed he'd passed out. On these nights that happened a lot, actually.

Harry weaseled his way out of Liam's deathly hold, freeing his airways. He couldn't really get out, but he had to try. He wanted his own bed, fresh sheets and maybe a hot shower in the morning. He had to get away from Liam. He couldn't take this any longer.

Harry struggled for what felt like hours, until he finally liberated his arms, then his legs. Then, he gingerly pushed Liam's body to the other side of the bed.

He snaked out of Liam's binding hold, hopped off of the mattress, grabbed his clothes and scurried back to his room as quickly as possible to avoid being seen naked by any of the girls.

He was trembling the entire time. It usually took a while for him to gather his surroundings afterwards.

Harry wasn't sure how long it took for him to cry himself to sleep once he got back to his own bed, but that's precisely what he did.

~ ❁ ~


	24. t w e n t y - t h r e e

~ ❁ ~

The world was tranquil and calm when Harry's eyes opened that day. He curled up under the fresh sheet, breathed out, and just laid there finding comfort in the silence of his room.

He glanced up at the old cream walls, complete with the ancient dents and gashes, the brimful closet, the sole night stand beside his bed. He had all of his things; three years worth of just stuff: a book or two, his clothes and shoes, notebooks, pens and pencils, accessories, jewelry, hair care products, makeup, handbags, etc. Harry knew all of those things would seem like he'd imprinted here, let a part of himself twine with the seams of this place.

But even after scanning his surroundings, the room just didn't feel like  _home_ , Harry thought. Home wasn't supposed to be like this. Home was a safe place for his feelings to flourish; where purpose lied. It was depressing to think that his purpose was to live a life like this.

Harry didn't know the story of how Liam acquired this house, but it looked pretty old in comparison to some of the houses within the city. It was a brick town house, built pressed up close to the others on the block with iron railings and a concrete front steps. The windows were yellow at night, and transparent during daytime and although the screens had been torn out of them, Harry still felt confined from the outside world.

He eventually sat up in his bed, scratched his tangled head of hair and looked around the room. There was a faint trace of light slipping in through the curtains-at least midday.

He sat in bed for a while, his arms wrapped around his torso, staring into space. He spaced out a lot while he was living here. He had a lot on his mind.

In the aftermath of the pervious night, Harry had a tiny pair of briefs covering his sore ass and a pounding headache to match each simultaneous throb of his chest.

And he didn't feel well. Harry didn't suppose one  _could_  feel well and fine after being treated in such a barbaric way. He wasn't sure how he was going to look Liam in the eye today and felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it. It was always like that the morning after, and Harry wanted nothing more than to sink into a hole and never reemerge.

He slid to the edge of his mattress, let his legs dangle down over the side. He hadn't bled any, he noticed, thank God. He got out of bed, rifled through his belongings in search of something to wear for the day.

As he was looking, it dawned on him that he would have his date with Louis that evening. He smiled weakly at the thought.  _Louis_.

He wasn't as excited for it as he had been yesterday. That wasn't far fetched, considering the extent of the night he'd spent.

Harry really wanted to look his best and be on his best behavior for Louis. He found himself thinking about how much he liked the man, even after all the bullshit that enveloped their first impression. It wasn't fair that things had to be this way and Harry hated to blame Louis for being the only innocent one in the story.

He dug through his things for a while, sniffing them, checking for stains and such, making sure everything in his dirty laundry pile was actually dirty before he settled on a faded pink sweater and a pair of black jeans. He didn't want to dress too flashy, since Louis didn't seem to place his judgments on whether Harry was clothed or naked. He always had the same opinion of Harry, always treated him with respect and typically wasn't affected by his lewdness. It was nice to have a person in his life who treated him as human despite all his laborious efforts to prove the world otherwise. Harry did have feelings, even if it came as a shock.

He gathered a pair of boxers from his clean pile, then slipped out of his room.

Liam's bedroom door was shut, the girls' bedroom door was open and a couple hushed voices could be heard. He didn't bother to eavesdrop, instead, went to the bathroom so he could have that long awaited shower.

Harry had dreams about that shower. It was the only place he could go in the house to escape the horrors within it.

The bathroom was unoccupied, so he placed his clothes on the counter surface and went to wash his hands at the sink. He splashed some cool water on his face, rubbed his tired eyes.

He stepped out of his boxers, kicked them to the corner before he went over to run the shower water.

Once he got under the hot spray it was like he'd entered another dimension. He inhaled and exhaled as the hot mist encompassed him and he truly felt he could breathe.

Harry was in a strange mood. He wasn't sad. He didn't feel like crying or anything. He was so accustomed to the uttermost depths of dismalness that he often found it challenging to identify his feelings. He was tired, as he liked to call it. Maybe it was a misnomer, but Harry didn't have another word for it. It was an overall abhorrence of the dreariness of routine. Complacency. It was all so sickening, to spend each and every day the same fucking way. He felt worn out by the tribulations of past, present and future. He was done. Both mentally and emotionally. He truly hadn't anything more to give.

He snapped open one of the countless bottles of body soap he knew for sure was his. It felt much less full than the last time he recalled using it. He took his wash cloth, squirted the soap onto it and got to work.

Harry could really let his thoughts have their freedom confined within the grimy tile walls of the shower. He allowed his eyes to close against the soothing feel of foamy soap bubbles against his skin, and he didn't worry about what was to come.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed in there. After he washed himself he just stood there, eyes trained on the shower floor whilst the hot water streamed down his head and chest, his body enamored with rosy hue.

He was startled from his space vacation when someone pounded on the door, complaining about needing to take a piss.

Joe.

Harry cut off the faucet and drew the curtain back against the metal rod, the wretched squeak of it piercing his eardrums. He stepped out of the shower, got a towel, dried himself and his hair off, then started to get dressed.

He let Joe in to use the bathroom and she did, took care of her business while Harry blow dried his hair. He brushed it and ran his fingers through the soft ringlets, making sure they were sweet smelling and tangle free.

Joe left and Harry went back to his room to do his make up.

Again, he didn't want to look too glamorous. It was just a little restaurant, Louis had said. Harry wanted to look pretty for Louis but at the same time he didn't want to come across as though he put too much thought into his appearance. He settled for all natural colors, soft browns and light pinks. No reds or blacks.

He only put on a little bit of mascara, eyeshadow and blush. He could do with just chapstick for the night. He didn't have anyone to impress, tonight. He already had Louis, anyway.

He went to the kitchen and there stood Ira, chopping vegetables while Lauren sat at the table, feeding little Harrie her bottle.

Harry greeted them both, gave Lauren's shoulder a soft squeeze before he went to the refrigerator to find something to eat.

He grabbed an apple and the milk and sat down at the table, where there were a couple boxes of cereal already left there from breakfast.

"Good afternoon. You slept late, huh?" Lauren chuckled at him as she wiped the dribbled milk from the baby's chin.

"Yeah. Tired... I guess." He mumbled, noncommittally. He watched his spoon drag through the soggy unsugared cornflakes, turned his nose up.

"Don't worry, Sandra and Joe are going to get more groceries in a few." She whispered, giving him a tiny reassuring smile.

"That's good." He replied, deciding to take a bite of his apple instead.

Just then, Niall came into the kitchen. Harry was used to his presence, but it was getting harder and harder to look the man in the eye with knowledge of the atrocities he'd committed.

"Hey, bitch," he taunted, slipping his arm around Ira's neck from behind. She was trapped between his front and the kitchen counter.

"Yes," she answered, her gaze adhesive to the floor. Harry felt angry she was even responding to a slur like that.

Harry tried his hardest not to listen to his rough voice telling her all the things he was gonna do to her tonight, how loud she'd scream, how much she'd love it. Harry swallowed hard and stared at the table with his brow furrowed as she whimpered, tried to pull away from his invading touch when he pushed her against the counter and took a gouging handful of her ass. It was the purest example of sexual harassment, and Harry felt too sick to finish his meal.

He pulled away from her body, his horrid presence lingering long after he'd made his exit from the kitchen.

Harry stood from the table after a minute to put his bowl in the sink. Ira was hastily working, peeling potatoes as if the scene hadn't just occurred.

"You okay?" Harry asked her, still frowning.

"Yeah, yeah... fine," she dismissed, continuing her duties.

One can tell the value of a person's "fine" by whether or not they ask for an elaboration on the concern. And it most definitely wasn't enough to convince Harry of her wellbeing.

"... need any help?" He asked, going to push the sleeves of his sweater up when she shook her head.

"No, no. I got it," she flashed Harry an artificial smile, then resumed her work and didn't address him anymore.

Harry sighed. What more was there that he could do? He'd been through his fair share of sexual abuse, but what Niall was doing was plain cruel and Harry knew there was no way in hell she could be coping well. 

Liam came into the kitchen next.

It was a while later. Harry was holding Harrietta in his arms, while Lauren stood by the front door and made sure all the needed groceries were on Joe's list before she saw her off.

Harry watched from his seat at the table when Lauren gave her partner a quick kiss before waving goodbye and closing the door back.

The pimp came out a moment later, the pungent odor of sweat and sex still hovering his guise.

Harry watched him with dilated eyes, curious as to whether or not Liam recalled the previous night. He highly doubted it.

He spoke to Ira for a bit, told her what she was cooking smelled really delicious. She thanked him nervously, promised she would serve him first once she finished.

Liam sat down at the kitchen table with eyes bloodshot and hands quaking, grasping several papers. They looked like customer documents, from where Harry sat. He really didn't want to think about what that could mean.

Harry kept his eyes to himself as Liam tiredly sifted through the crumpled papers, his dark hood pulled up over his head.

Harry thought Liam kind of resembled a demon, looking like that. He was big and stark with dark brown eyes and could easily frighten most with his deep voice and rough hands. Harry had a bubbling feeling in his gut about Liam ever since he first day he arrived here. He always questioned why Liam constantly seemed so intolerant, so taciturn and calloused.

"What are you looking at, Princess?" Liam murmured eerily, as he clicked a pen from his pocket and started scribbling something down on one of the papers in his hand.

"Sorry," Harry looked away as quickly as possible. He hadn't meant for his eyes to wander.

"Forgot to tell you," Liam remembered, not glancing up but catching Harry's attention.

"Need you to get the little one ready by Friday," he said, casually. Harry felt his whole world break at those words. It didn't matter that he already knew, it still hurt to fathom the truth. Reality was a harsh thing.

"... I can do that," he murmured, closing his eyes as he gave his response.

"I know you can, baby," Liam stood, took his junk with him and left the table.

~ ❁ ~

Harry stood outside the restaurant with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. It was about six, he supposed. He wasn't running late or anything like that. He guessed he was feeling a little nervous. He didn't know why.

Harry could see Louis on the inside, sitting at a table, sipping a drink and looking at his phone.

Harry nervously stared in through the big glass window, his fingers furling around the tiny piece of paper in his left hand.

He wasn't so sure this was such a good idea. Harry hadn't really thought about this before making the journey. Last night he'd been gung-ho with liquid courage, and now that he was standing not even a hundred feet away, he felt anxious.

What was he even going to do here? What would Louis want with him?

Maybe Louis was kidding when he approached him last time. Louis couldn't have meant he actually wanted to see Harry again.

Louis was pretty cool; nonchalant about things. He didn't seem to care about the stuff most people cared about. He was the type of guy that just wanted to have a laugh. He didn't take life too seriously; wasn't stuck up or self centered or planned. Louis also evidently didn't think too much about the outcome of a lot of his actions before doing them. Like getting attached to and emotionally invested in his relations with a prostitute. Wasn't really the smartest thing to do.

So maybe Louis hadn't  _really_  wanted Harry to come see him. If that made any sense at all. (it didn't)

Harry was being absurd, he knew. He was talking himself out of it for nothing. There he was, dressed and prepared for his date with Louis and he was fiddling with his reasoning instead of just going in there.

He was just about to turn around, when Louis's eyes caught his. Louis's bright smile bursted through and he waved at Harry excitedly.

 _Damn_ , Harry thought.

He walked into the restaurant with his eyes on the floor.

"Hey," Louis stood up to greet him.

Harry looked around to avoid Louis's kind gaze. He didn't know why Louis made him so nervous.

"Want to sit?" Louis held his drink in hand as he showed Harry to the table in the middle of the establishment.

"I uh, yeah," Harry fumbled, before sitting down.

Louis sat down across from him and smiled. He placed his cool beer on the wooden surface before asking.  
"You want something to drink?"

"Um... water is fine," Harry stuttered.

"Okay," While Louis ushered the waiter over, Harry slipped his coat off of his shoulders and draped it over the back of his chair.

Harry didn't know what to do. He hadn't been on many dates. To be honest, he didn't remember the last time he'd gone on one.

Come to think of it, Harry didn't know why he agreed to this to begin with. He felt awkward and uncomfortable. It wasn't Louis that made him feel that way. Harry was certain there was something wrong with how he himself was feeling. It was internal conflict. He really wanted to be here, but he knew he shouldn't have.

The waiter left for his water and Louis slid Harry the menu with a warm smile. He glanced up for a brief moment and politely accepted it.

He pried it open, scanned through the different meals he could have. He was hungry for sure. He hadn't had anything besides that half an apple and a couple spoonfuls of soggy cornflakes this morning.

Harry wanted to behave. He wanted to sit up straight and give Louis eye contact when he spoke. He wanted to fold his hands in his lap and smile/laugh at the jokes Louis made. He wanted to be polite; to have good etiquette.

 _Etiquette_. Was that even the right word?

"Harry?"

Harry looked up over the menu, gave Louis his full attention.

"...yes?"

"I don't know if you heard me... I said the chicken sandwich is good if you wanted to try that. It's kind of hard to... decide the first time around," he mumbled, messing with the straw in his glass.

"Um... yeah. Sounds fine," Harry said, closing the menu and placing it on the table once more. He hadn't really known where to start anyways. It all looked so delicious.

He placed his elbows on the table, then thought better of it and folded his hands in his lap instead.

"So... how are you?" Louis asked, clearing his throat.

"Good. Fine. Shitty. I don't know." Harry shrugged truthfully, smiling to himself.

Louis chuckled, nodding in understanding.

"I bet," he sighed. It was silent for a bit, like maybe Louis was contemplating what to say next.

"Look, Harry... I couldn't properly apologize last night, but... its long overdue." Harry looked up.

"I never meant to be a douche bag. It was just sort of frustrating though... how we would act so close, when  _really_  we were strangers. I never really took that kind of... rejection well,"

Harry listened.

"I think the worst thing for me to have done... was to try to get you in my life, get to know you, to try to talk to you, and show you I care... by having sex with you. That was stupid of me. I want to know  _you_. I want to hear about your life and your interests and your baggage. I  _want_  to know. I don't  _need_  to know, but. I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk," Louis offered a small smile embracing his lips from across the table.

Harry felt something sharp tug at his chest.

"Okay," He said, softly, unsure of what else to say. He didn't really know  _what_  to say to that, anyway.

Maybe having a  _someone_  wouldn't be so bad after all.

When the waiter returned with Harry's water, he placed it in front of him, broke the uncomfortable silence by offering to take their orders.

"I'll have the chicken sandwich but, without the tomatoes. Could I also get a side of onion rings. Thanks," Louis said to the waiter, Jeffrey, apparently.

Harry twiddled his thumbs in his lap as he gave his order for just a chicken sandwich. The last time he'd gone out to eat was at least a couple years ago. Liam didn't typically want them loitering around public places unless it was absolutely pertinent.

"Will that be all?" Jeff asked.

"Yes," Louis clarified. Jeffrey repeated their order to them, then left.

Harry sipped his water but he didn't say anything. He didn't really know what to say. Louis sat across from him, silent as well for a few moments.

Eventually someone had to pipe up.

It had been about five minutes before Louis had finally decided to kill the awkwardness.

"... so, Harry. Tell me about yourself," he prompted. Clearly, someone had to do it.

Harry glanced up, a little worried about having to respond to that. "Um... what do you want to know?" He asked, nervously.

"Anything. Whatever you feel like sharing," Louis said, calmingly. Harry nodded. There was no pressure here whatsoever.

It was like it always was, with Louis. Louis would make an offer and Harry could most certainly decline if he really wanted to. Harry had the freedom of speech and free thinking with Louis. Louis wasn't going to force him to do anything. That was the reason Harry came, wasn't it? To be treated as human, with certain rights that could not be revoked from him.

"Alright... well," Harry started, looking up to see Louis sitting tall, all ears and eager to hear what Harry had to say. Harry smiled.

"I was born in Florida... my mom raised my by herself. I've never known my real dad... never met him." 

Louis leaned forward onto his folded elbows, seemingly intrigued.

"... um... I don't really know what to say. I was living a good life, I guess. Nothing tragic. My mom never had a problem with me being gay. Neither did my stepdad," Harry said, looking to Louis for help.

"That's good. She was always supportive?" Louis asked, taking a swig of his drink.

"Yeah. I know it's not always like that, so, I was lucky. In that sense..." Harry trailed, unsure of how to take it from there.

"Well... if it's not too forward to ask - you can say no, just - how did you get all the way up here?" Louis asked.

Harry nodded. He supposed it was kind of strange that a southern boy ended all the way up in Pennsylvania.

"I... uh," he smirked. Louis looked confused.

"I ran away,"

Harry had never actually told anyone that before, he realized. He'd thought about it many times and regretted it a hundred times, yet he'd never actually confided in anyone the truth of how he got up here to begin with. It made him feel a wave of dejection.

"Might I ask why?"

He felt like an ingrate, having admitted to Louis his life was a land of milk and honey, only to follow up by saying he ran away like the troubled and pathetic teenager he one to identified as.

But it was him. It was his story and he couldn't pretend those things hadn't happened. It was who he was and there was no changing that.

"Yeah. I'll tell you," Harry looked down, embarrassed.

~ ❁ ~


	25. t w e n t y - f o u r

~ ❁ ~

Lauren laid on the bed in the corner with Joe, her lover's arms encasing her torso from behind. She loved being the little spoon; feeling Joe all around her, providing a sense of safety and security. It was one of the many things she loved about their relationship. The way Joe made her feel loved and protected, was indescribable.

When Joe had returned from the grocery store a couple hours ago she'd been all riled up about something that had happened. Lauren was too exhausted to remember, but she was well aware of Joe's anger issues and didn't want her blood pressure to go up because of the stress. She had to stay healthy. Lauren had to make sure they both made it out of here alive.

She figured they could both use a nap and entrusted Mariana and Sandra with the task of watching baby Harrie while the Cardona mothers rested.

It was always nice to just lay together, Lauren thought. She loved that amidst the pain and suffering, her and her beau could revel in each other's warmth, savor the quietness, and the temporary serenity. 

But soon, their peaceful haven had come to an end.

Joe had to get up and leave her. The other girls came into the rooms and started prying around for clothes to wear. Lauren laid there, curled up under the covers for a long time after everyone left.

Keshia was hiding up in the corner, a recluse to the world. Liza had brought the girl a sandwich on a paper plate sometime around noon, hadn't wanted to bother her with much. She wasn't talking to anyone. The other girls sort of knew why. They all felt the same pain of realization at some point. They all had a tragic backstory and they all wished for an escape. They all comprehended Keshia's anger, and allowed her the space to grieve.

Lauren had been in the bed, couldn't get much sleep after her love had left her. She just laid under the sheets, thinking.

When Liam knocked on the girls' room door calmly, she had closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Liam didn't scare her exactly. But he was loud and big and commanding. He made them do things they didn't want to and he hurt them from time to time. And he wasn't exactly the easiest guy to feel charmed by.

Lauren thought it'd be better if she was still incognizant when he entered.

She wondered what Liam wanted. There was no answer at the door, and so he walked in because, well, it was his house after all.

She focused on the steadiness of her breathing, staying motionless, and keeping the flitter from her eyelids.

He had to be looking for Keshia, she figured. 

"Hey," Lauren heard his deep voice. It was low and sweet; a sound she wasn't accustomed to.

"...hello," Keshia hesitantly replied, clearly very wary of the man. She should be, Lauren mused to herself.

"I don't think we've spoken much," Liam said, like a sly fox, weaseling his way past her boundaries.

"... not at all," the girl answered.

"Well, I'm Liam," he told her.

Lauren couldn't help but peek one eye open to see the man sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, facing the girl in the corner on the opposite side of the room.

"Keshia," she said.

He held his hand out to her, and she took it after a moment. They shook hands.

"That's a nice name... pretty name," he said, distantly.

Keshia just smiled shyly, still uncertain as to whether or not she could trust the man. Lauren precisely remembered both her and Harry telling her not to.

"Do you know Harry?" Liam asked after a minute or two, quizzically.

Keshia visibly tensed at the sound of his name. It was sad to see, honestly. Lauren recalled the girl talking of nothing but Harry for hours and now... she was silent.

"... no," she huffed, bitterly folding her arms over her chest.

"Oh, are you sure?" Liam asked, and Lauren really wanted to know where he was taking this. Her whole body ached with worried anticipation.

Keshia took a quiet moment before sighing. "Well..."

"Mr. Horan tells me the two of you are very close. Is that so?" Liam asked, his hands clasped together in his lap.

Lauren didn't like this one bit.

"... well he lied to me! I  _thought_  we were friends... I don't want anything to do with him," she growled, spitefully. Liam noticed apparently, and would use that spite to his own devices.

"Well, looks like Harry's been doing a lot of lying these days hasn't he?"

Lauren almost shot up and blew her cover.  _What_?

"What do you mean?"

Liam cleared his throat before elaborating. "A couple of weeks ago I was in the city a few blocks down from where Harry works... Now, it was about midnight, and I saw him running out of a familiar looking apartment complex. So I got suspicious. I didn't say anything to him... didn't want him knowing I knew. I've been busy anyway."

Lauren bit her lip, foreboding what was next.

"... so Niall just told me Harry said he was going to the club... but I called Manny a couple hours ago and... Harry doesn't have a shift tonight."

Keshia nodded, almost hypnotized.

"I was just wondering... if you knew anything about where he is and what he's doing, because I don't very well appreciate being lied to," Liam calmly stated, and Lauren didn't have to see him to know that he was smiling.

"I... I-I don't know," Keshia answered, shakily.

"... come on, you don't know  _anything_? Nothing at  _all_?" Liam prompted, softly.

Lauren wanted to stop him. She wanted to pipe up and keep that sick bastard from misusing Keshia's trust. She wanted to believe that Keshia would obey them, listen to them when they told her not to trust Liam. She wanted to think the girl wasn't angry enough at Harry to give him up like this.

"Well ... maybe there's... one thing," the girl whispered.

And Lauren knew she had put her faith in the wrong place.

She always thought Harry was pessimistic when he reiterated his personal motto. "You can't trust anyone," he'd say. She had never actually witnessed such a prime example as to why he believed it with such vigor.

"... in his closet... I don't know... one day I was looking for him 'cause everyone was in here and it was crowded, you know?"

Liam nodded, anxious for her to continue.

"I was standing outside of his door and I heard him and Mari talking about something but I didn't listen 'cause I know it's not polite to like, eavesdrop, but... I thought they were done so I went inside and he was stuffing like... money into a shoebox, like a  _lot_  of it,"

Liam swallowed.

"... that's all I ever seen," Keshia admitted.

"Do you know where it is?" Liam asked, curiously.

"... I... I think so..."

"Show me," he commanded, vocals returning to his natural tone.

Lauren squeezed her eyes shut as Keshia stood up and trotted out of the room, Liam's heavy stride quick behind her.

She trembled with fear for Harry.

What would Liam do to him if the allegations had been true?

~ ❁ ~

"... it was kinda the opposite for me. Dad raised me after my mom died. He never recovered from losing her. I remember I left for college and I was worried about how he would be once I was gone. He turned out fine." Louis said, as he drove.

Harry looked over from where he sat in the passenger's seat, listening intently.

"... I thought I was straight for about... nineteen years," Louis chuckled.

"Wait, how old are you now?" Harry asked, amusedly.

"Twenty-three," Louis replied.

"So you've only known you were gay for four years?"

"Okay, okay. Lemme explain," he smiled, rolling his eyes fondly.

Harry happily shut his mouth in order to hear Louis talk.

"I was dating this girl in high school. She was kinda like a best friend who I decided, hey why not. Relationships were never a serious thing to me. My dad was never accepting of the whole gay movement and equal marriage stuff, so... I kind of assumed I wasn't gay. It never crossed my mind..." Louis mused, as he put his turn signal on, turned the corner onto the main road.

"I got to college and all of a sudden there were these... all these gay guys and LGBT groups and it was all so knew to me. I met some people who were fun and cool and interesting. I started hanging out with them. I remember the first time I kissed a guy... I was so like, nervous. I guess how one would feel when they kiss a girl for the first time. It was... different. Like, it meant more. I felt more than I ever felt kissing my ex-girlfriend. And it was just my guy friend. I kinda realized then that something was up," he laughed, as the car slowed down at the traffic lit intersection.

"Did you tell your dad?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, eventually. I finished my degree in business and moved out. I got my own place and stuff so I didn't have to depend on him anymore. I wanted him to know... I was kind of worried he would hate me." Louis said sadly. Harry bit his lip.

"But, when I called him that night he seemed... He wasn't surprised at all," Louis said, thoughtfully.

Harry watched out the window as the car passed glowing reds and greens and yellows. The traffic wasn't as bad tonight, so he would get home in time to not look suspicious, but for some unknown reason, Harry had an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He tried not to think about it and instead focused on Louis while he could.

"Was... is he accepting of you?" Harry asked, hoping Louis's had a good relationship with his father.

"I mean, he still talks to me. I can tell he's never been over the moon about it, but..." Louis shrugged, as he stopped at the stop sign before turning into the ghetto residency.

"So what do you do?" Harry asked,

"I work in human resources in a insurance branch in Camden, New Jersey. 'Bout twenty minutes from here. Gets the bills paid," he answered, rehearsed.

"Oh okay," Harry nodded, having no clue what that meant.

"I want to go back to school, sometimes... try something different. I make enough to support myself, but I just..." Louis said, pensively, as the car rolled to a stop. He parked just a few blocks down from Harry's house, then relaxed back against the leather seats.

A beat of silence passed.  
"I never finished high school," Harry murmured, insecurely. He thought it was kind of pathetic.

Louis looked over across the seat.

"I was so stupid," Harry berated himself, with a heavy exhale. He never knew he'd regret something so much. Running away had been ridiculous. He'd lived in heaven compared to his life now.

"No, you weren't." Louis stopped him, took his hand from where it rested on his lap.

Harry glanced up.

"You were hurting," he said, softly. Harry knew it. At the time the pain seemed so prominent. But  _still_ , he shouldn't have just dipped like that.

"You can get your GED, you know? You can still go to college, if you want..."

Harry didn't know. He didn't know anything. He knew nothing about money management, taxes, schools or jobs or life. All he knew was how to survive. He was an illusion, a faux. He had no life skills, no remembrance of simple math or logic. He was a jumbled mess of confusion and chaos. He had nothing. He  _was_  nothing.

"I don't remember anything, Lou," he said, disdainfully.

"Oh, now. You'd be surprised what you'd remember. Sixteen years is a long time to be in school. Well, eleven years. Plus, they give you a book to study, you go through it, take the test and then you've got your high school diploma," Louis informed him, his thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

"I don't know..." Harry sighed.

"You don't have to, but... whatever you want to do, just let me know and I'll help you out if you need."

Harry looked down.

"You know that, right?" Louis asked.

He didn't know what to say.

"If you ever need anything, anything at all... you can  _always_  come to me. I'm sorry I never made that clear to you," Louis apologized, regretfully.

Harry nodded, squeezed Louis's hand and looked him in the eye. "Thank you," he said, giving a grateful smile.

After a few moments of silence, Harry was sure he had ought to get going. Of course he didn't want to leave. He never wanted to leave his haven with Louis to return to a world of pain, but he didn't have a choice. He belonged to someone else.

"... am I allowed to kiss you?" Louis asked, his blue eyes hopeful.

Harry smirked, a huff of air leaving him.

"... yeah," he confirmed, butterflies fluttering to life in his stomach.

So Louis leaned in, placed his free hand on Harry's cheek and pressed their lips together.

It wasn't heated nor was it chaste. It was the perfect in-between. It was comfort and assurance that Harry couldn't depend on from anyone else. It was the care and the concern he would never accept. Louis was giving it to him, and Harry had no choice but to take it.

Louis pulled away, let his soothing touch linger on Harry's flushed skin for a brief moment.

Their eyes met, and even in the dimness of the night, Harry could see the sincerity in Louis's eyes.

He knew that this was his chance; his hope. Louis was his way out, the key to the padlock of his heavy chains. He wanted that escape. He needed to be free, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words,

_help me_

And that was nobody's fault but his own.

Louis wasn't going to force him.

He moved away, and Harry's heart was left, thumping out of control in his breathless chest.

"Thank you, for tonight," Harry said, as he trapped his bag and his coat between his frantic hands.

"Thank you for coming. It meant the world to me, you know," Louis said breathily.

"Goodnight," Harry slowly said, touching Louis's hand once more.

"Tomorrow?" Louis asked, wondering when he would get to see Harry again. He nibble his lip, pondering it.

"If you're at the club," Harry suggested, his voice unsteady.

"... I'll swing by," Louis promised.

And with that, Harry parted.

He walked up the street to the house, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Harry thought of Louis, his kindness, how calming his voice was, how nice he smelled, how handsome he was.

Harry was losing the fight, he realized.

But it was hard to keep pretending all the time. Sometimes Harry had to admit he was human, with irrational thoughts and lethal feelings and pink fantasies.

Not everything was nothing.

He smiled dopily as he walked up the steps to the front door.

He pried through his purse for the money he would owe Liam, still left over from his escapade with Louis a few weeks back.

Pretty soon he would have to go back out on the street with the rest of the girls.

And Harry wasn't one to get his hopes up, but he really wanted to figure this thing out.

Maybe he and Louis could have a special time where they could meet up during the week.

Maybe Louis would want to keep seeing Harry.

He didn't know where any of it was headed but he knew of the intimate fluorescence he experienced in Louis's presence. He knew of the flutter in his chest and the uneasiness in his stomach. He knew how Louis made him feel, and he wanted nothing more than to have that with him forever. It kept Harry sane and he couldn't imagine life now without him.

He walked into the house quietly, his heart in the back of his throat.

He felt high, unsteady on his feet and dizzy in the head.

He meandered down the hall, and noted the silence of it all.

He just made it to his room, was reaching out to put his hand on the knob when the door of Liam's bedroom bursted open.

He placed his hand over his chest, shocked to a stand-still.

"Where the hell have you been?" Liam asked, incriminatingly.

Harry swallowed.

"I-I was working," Harry stammered. He'd never been a very good liar.

" _Bullshit_ ," Liam hissed, his strong hand shoving Harry's back to the wall.

"I promise, I was-" Harry nervously rambled his fingers shaking as he tried to present Liam with his money.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Liam spat at him, bellowed voice pounding against Harry's eardrums. He dropped his things to the floor.

He did as he was told, looked at the floor with heavy trembling breaths as Liam interrogated him.

"Where have you been going, huh?!"

"No where," he whimpered as Liam's grip tightened on his arm.

" _Look_  at me when I'm talking to you,"

Harry did so.

"Where did you go?"

Harry was silent.

"... I'm not going to ask you this again," Liam clipped, sternly.

He closed his eyes as the memories of his youth poured back to him. He'd been in this position so many times, underneath Liam, subjugated to him. He'd heard Liam's rough voice and experienced his angered tone. He'd felt Liam's wrath all over his body, inside of his body. He knew what it felt like to die.

"I didn't do anything," he wailed, too afraid to look Liam in the eye.

Liam's searing grasp took him by his hair and tugged him into his room. He kept quiet, although the pain was immense.

Liam let go of Harry to reach the top shelf of his closet. His heart was beating out of control.

He felt frozen, caught with his hand in the cookie jar too many times and now he'd be punished for it.

"What the fuck is  _this_?!" Liam screamed at him, throwing the box to the floor with such force that the money went flying, hundreds and thousands of green paper bills fluttering into the air.

Harry trembled where he stood. His throat felt dry and his vocal chords broken.

He couldn't move and he couldn't speak.

"How long have you been stealing from me,  _huh_?!" He was asked. He stood stone still as Liam crouched down to the floor, grabbed a handful of his- _Liam's_  money, picked it up an waved it right in his face.   
Harry blinked.

"ANSWER ME!" Liam slapped him firmly across the face when he didn't reply immediately, rage seeping through the elder's usually kept resolve.

Harry didn't cry. He promised himself he wouldn't. He didn't flinch or beg. He stood still and took the repercussions like a man. He deserved this.

"... you're a piece of  _shit_ , you know that?" Liam spat in Harry's face. He sniffed, his gaze trained onto the floorboards.

"... I try, I really do try to treat you all with respect. But when you  _lie_  to me, and you  _steal from me_ , and you  _cheat_ -" 

Harry watched him dangerously, unsure of how to respond.

Liam took a firm hold of Harry by the collar of his sweater, steered him toward the door.

He was pushed into the hallway, then Liam's room, and shoved face down onto his bed.

Harry felt his heart pound rapid fire against his ribcage, every beat lethal. He was alive. He would feel every last bit of this torture.

But maybe he deserved to.

Liam went over to the door and slammed it shut, effectively trapping him in the cave of the beast.

~ ❁ ~


	26. t w e n t y - f i v e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lovely Harry gets fucked up in this chapter. :( so a brief WARNING for scenes of violence/abuse/cruelty/etc. carry on.

 

~ ❁ ~

"I thought  _you_  of all people would know better not to fuck with me," He gritted as he proceeded to strip Harry of his clothing.

Harry kept his mouth shut as he felt his top removed, then tossed to the floor. He shivered bodily as his back was exposed to the cold air.

He closed his eyes as Liam pulled down his pants, then his boxers.

His shoes and the articles of his lower half were thrown carelessly to the corner of the room.

"... but maybe you like fucking with me, hm?" Liam whispered, his calloused hand in Harry's hair, yanking his head up to acknowledge his filthy words.

And he'd just been fucked yesterday. Harry was sore and uncomfortable and he knew Liam didn't have any recollection of it occurring. Harry knew he was going to be in horrible shape if Liam fucked him now. He was more than terrified at the thought.

"... I don't have the time right now," Liam muttered.

Harry felt a wave of pathetic relief wash over his whole body at that statement.

"Got business to deal with. But I can't let you get away with stealing my money." He angrily thought out loud.

Harry close his eyes and waited for him to decide.

And Liam wore belts. They didn't do much for him since his ass was always out, but there was always one fit snugly through the loop of his old tattered jeans.

Harry heard the familiar sound of Liam pulling his thin leather belt through the loop, the clanking of the buckle echoing in Harry's mind.

He grappled onto the sheets of his bed, his eyes squeezing tight as he foreboded his punishment.

Liam let the belt snap together, and Harry tried his best not to startle.

"Clearly, you must like this," Liam gave no warning before the long, thin leather strip smacked against his sensitive skin.

Harry closed his eyes even tighter as it started.

"Cause you never,  _fucking_ , learn," he angrily muttered, accentuating every word with a slap of his belt against Harry's back.

He couldn't bear much physical pain. Panic settled in his gut because Harry didn't know how he was going to endure this. It was like this every time. Once Liam started, Harry was constantly battling himself to stay present.

Every stroke was a sharp crack that resonated against the walls of the room. Harry wouldn't cry. He promised himself he wouldn't. This wasn't the first time Liam had beaten him. But it was worse than just a disciplinary act, because Liam was pissed this time and was holding nothing back.

"Is this what you wanted, huh?! You like that?" Liam bit, his arm swinging down again. Harry couldn't help the sob that tore through his throat, his back arching with each wrathful hit. He closed his eyes as his body shook. He wasn't sure how long this would go on but even worse, how much he could take.

 _Smack_.

His body shook and his bones trembled. He gripped the bed as firmly as he could, in fickle attempt to ground him from the bodily harm.

Liam got more and more energetic as the beating went on, over and over and over again. Harry's pale skin was on fire, so red and blazed that he couldn't even tell if he was bleeding yet. He felt the metallic belt buckle pang against his lower back, and his spine ached with such a feeling.

 _Smack_.

It wasn't abuse. Harry very well knew every time he stole from Liam that this could be the outcome. He made the choice to do the wrong thing, lie to his sisters and disobey his Daddy. Each scorching whip was his destiny.

 _Smack_.

He couldn't breathe. His body was wracked with all kinds of suffering, both physical and emotional. He gasped for air, but Liam didn't stop for even a second. The hits came in quick, merciless succession.

 _Smack_.

 _Smack_.

His hair fell into his face in a tangled, unruly mess, whilst he writhed. Liam wasn't just hitting his back anymore. He hit any place he could reach, from his neck to his ass down to his thighs and back up again. He could feel Liam's hysteria in each smack, the way he muttered and gritted and slurred.

 _Smack_.

Harry knew he would burn all over even more so for weeks as a reminder. That was the point of being punished: to learn never to recommit.

After a while he stopped feeling it. Like all the other outlets of pain he received, Harry became numb.

"I guess you want me to keep going? Gonna be silent forever," Liam taunted, his strikes more powerful with each word.

_Smack. SMACK._ **_SMACK_ ** _._

"No, no, please...  _please_ ," he cried, having broken his vow. The tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. He knew his punishment was far from over.

"Get up." Liam ordered.

Harry's limbs shook as he attempted to stand, his arms giving out under him.

"NOW!" Liam yelled at him, and he forced himself the stand, the exertion of his bruised body too much to handle.

And Harry knew what was coming next. He didn't want to beg Liam not to lock him up, but he had to.

"No, please don't... please," he cried, shaking his head frantically.

Liam kicked open the door to his own bathroom. He shoved Harry inside so roughly his knees hit the cold unforgiving linoleum. 

"... deal with you later,"

Muttering that phrase with finality, Liam locked the door and barred it tight, leaving Harry in frigid darkness.

He was really angry this time. Maybe Harry had gone too far.

He curled up in the corner and just cried, his breath stolen from him as he wheezed.

He never knew how long Liam would leave him in here. He never had any food and there was tap water, but it tasted like city sewage.

He had slices and cuts mapping his back, no way to soothe the ache in his body. He closed his eyes and let his pain envelope him.

His wails didn't cease for hours.

~ ❁ ~

Harry woke up on the hard tile floor. He hadn't really gotten any sleep the night before, only snoozed lightly. Hibernated. He had shifted positions all night and couldn't find much comfort in any of them.

He stopped crying some time ago, figured it was useless. No one could hear him and those that could deafened themselves. Harry knew when Liam gave punishments they were taken seriously. Everyone was petrified to be next. So they did nothing. Silent bystanders.

Harry just laid on his side in Liam's bathtub, the frigid winter air seeping in through the cracked window.

Halfway through the night he'd tried to close it but it had rusted that way and he knew it wasn't going to budge at all. He had already looked around the bathroom to see if Liam kept any towels or clothes or even toilet tissue, but he found nothing. The linen closet was in the hall and Liam only used his bathroom to shower in and piss in. Harry knew that. But still. He was freezing his naked ass off.

He was sure his lips were blue. His teeth were chattering all night and he had to find a way to get warm. The shower curtain was his best hope.

He tore it down without a thought and drape it over his body. It was thick plastic and didn't provide much insulation to his frozen body.

He blinked, couldn't think anything rational in this state. He was sore and hungry and tired. He was so unbelievably tired. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.

Not only had he cheated the girls, lied to Liam and stolen the money, but he'd also dragged Mariana into it as well. He could only hope Liam didn't come for her too.

And come to think of it, how did Liam find out anyway? Harry never told a single soul besides Mari about the ordeal. He told Lauren about Louis, but never that he needed help sneaking away to visit him. Harry was completely confused. He had done his best to hide it.

He tried to think back. Who had known? Who had seen anything? Who would give him up? Who on Earth would go to Liam and nark on him?

Harry never trusted anyone in this house. Hell, he didn't even trust Mariana. He knew they hadn't exactly been on good terms since he last spoke to her, but he never thought to consider she would tell on him. She seemed so genuine.  _Never trust anyone._

Niall hadn't known. Liza hadn't known. Joe had the mentality to tell Liam and probably would have if she'd known, which she hadn't. Sandra was oblivious. Ira had her own baggage and definitely wouldn't go to Liam about anything. Lauren would never; wouldn't have it in her pretty soul to give him up if she were the wiser.

Which only left one person. 

 _Keshia_.

Harry groaned once he thought it over, remembered how angry the poor girl had been with him once she found out.

And the time she had walked into his room when he was counting the money. Mariana hadn't locked the door, which meant that anyone could barge in at the opportune moment. But Harry wouldn't blame Mari. He couldn't.

Harry really deserved all of this because it was his fault.

The girls looked up to Harry and they listened to him and usually trusted his judgment. But he let Mari convince him to steal and he lied to them all. He'd led them astray. They were the last ounce of family he could claim and he'd disarrayed everything. He used to get at Joe for skipping nights but now he was no better. He was a hypocrite. The girls bore each other's pain, but now Harry was disconnected. Because he was a liar. He was a fake. He was nothing.

And all for a fucking fantasy. It was a beautiful daydream, but that all it was; a dream. Louis probably didn't even want him. If Harry was being realistic with himself and thinking properly like he should have been all along he would have seen that they came from completely different worlds.

Harry was a hooker. He was a scum of society and lived at the very base of the social pyramid. It didn't go any lower than him. He was trash. He was disgusting and embarrassing and was ashamed of his body and what he did with it. He was uneducated and dirty and good for one thing only. Sex.

Louis had finished high school and had been to college and had a business degree. He was smart and kind and he had his own flat and his own car. Harry could only drool at a life of such independence and  _freedom_.

Louis was his polar opposite, his parallel universe; the life he could have had, had he not been so idiotic. He and Louis lived on completely different sides of the scale. It didn't make sense why Louis would even want to be seen with Harry let alone be associated with him.

It wasn't real. It would never work.

How could he have been so stupid? He had made himself vulnerable. Harry had flushed every last drop of the survival skills he'd gleaned down the drain. He was back to square one, thinking and feeling and crying like a little bitch because things weren't going his way.

Why had he done this?

How the fuck had he ended up here?

He curled in on himself on the floor of the tub, tightened the damn  _shower curtain_  around his body and squeezed his eyes shut.

He couldn't even bring himself to drift to his happy place. He didn't deserve to see his mother again.

She was probably much better off and would never want anything to do with him.

So Harry just closed his eyes and shivered. The guilt and shame surged through his bloodstream as he laid there, unthinking, unfeeling - emotionless.

His gut twisted.   
He breathed out.

The pain just never ceased.

~ ❁ ~

By the time Liam came for him that evening he was deep in the trenches of his own depressing thoughts.

He was angry with himself. How could he not be? He'd ruined all of the things he'd worked so hard for over course of three long years here. He had no excuses; no explanation for it. He'd fucked up. Bad.

"Get up, you piece of shit," Liam woke him with a rough hand tangled in his hair, pulling him up by his head.

"Fuck," he whimpered, scrambling to obey, but it didn't really matter when Liam was this angry. Liam would make sure he obeyed since he  _obviously_  didn't know how to.

Liam took him out of his ice cold bathtub, dragged him back into his bedroom.

Harry just gritted his teeth, glared at his perpetrator; the calmest form of fury he could express for the time being.

"I want you to tell me where you're running off to every night," he said, explaining his motives. Harry hadn't realized how discreet he wasn't being about it until now.

"Hm?" Liam's eyebrows raised and Harry caught a glimpse of Niall standing in the room too.

Harry hated when Liam got outside help from Niall. It was not only humiliating, but completely unnecessary. Harry could be good. He knew it and it pained him to see Liam reverting to old tactics he used to need to control Harry as a rebellious teenager. He was twenty-one years old for crying out loud.

"Hold this for me," Liam told Niall, offering Harry like an object by his hair.

Niall took a firm hold of his wrists behind his back with one hand, then using that same discomforting brashness raised his gaze by force with a stone cold fist in his lifeless curls.

"You gonna tell me?" Liam asked, condescendingly. Harry glared at him, breathed out through his nose, but didn't say a word.

Liam slapped him.

"I don't understand what's going on around here... why everybody is forgetting the simple fucking rules put into place," he bellowed, feeling challenged by his deliberate silence. Harry felt Niall's grip tighten to reinforce their superiority over him.

"When I ask you a question," he sighed, stepping closer to him. Harry swallowed hard.

"You answer the God damn question," Liam explained to him, the sharp back of his hand colliding with Harry's stomach. He choked, wasn't expecting the blow.

"Tell me where the fuck you were last night!" He commanded, and Niall made sure he made eye contact.

"I already, " Harry breathed, winded. "... t-told you wh-"

"That's bullshit. Don't lie to me anymore, you fucking bitch," Liam slurred the warning at him.

And of course Harry was frightened. Liam was much broader and much older than him. He was his boss, his pimp. Harry was the subordinate here and he'd been taught to behave as such. But this was somehow,  _wrong_. The power imbalance made his head swarm, the confusion of his feelings conflicting with the way he knew things were supposed to be.

He didn't feel like he was at Liam's mercy. He felt like he was only taking the consequences for making his own choices and decisions. He wasn't scared of them. He was anxious of what they might do to his body, but he didn't feel like he owed him a single explanation.  _It wasn't their business_.

"Who do you belong to?" Liam asked, curious as to what his answer would be. Harry knew what he was to say, and he wasn't sure why he felt the sudden urge to tell Liam to go fuck himself.

"You," he said without another thought.

"At least he knows that much," Liam shook his head at Niall. His use of male pronouns came as a surprise.

The man behind Harry chuckled and he wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes. He did indeed have a death wish but even he knew that would be pointless.

"Who took you in, gave you food and clothes, a job and protection when you were roaming around the streets alone?" Liam asked, as if he'd given Harry everything; was his savior.

It were as if all of those materialistic things could take the place of something innate every human craves, such as freedom. Harry couldn't overlook that. He was angry with Liam and he couldn't be grateful when this man had literally stolen his life from him.

Harry shook his head, looked away. He'd rather stare at the floor and take the repercussions of being disrespectful than give Liam the eye contact he thought he deserved. Liam was a monster; a manipulative beast. He didn't save Harry from anything and most certainly didn't deserve his respect.

Liam hit him again, seeking a response. But Harry wouldn't speak-- _couldn't_. He couldn't tell Liam what he wanted to hear. Harry didn't give a damn enough to boost the evil man and his malicious ego. Liam inflicted so much pain onto all the inhabitants of this house and Harry would in no way thank him for it. He wouldn't distract himself from the real enemy.

He wouldn't lie to himself anymore.

"Fuck," Liam cursed into the air, turning away from Harry. He just closed his eyes, willed the crimson sting in his cheeks to fade. It could never hurt as much as the three years Liam put him through.

"I guess you're asking for this then, huh?" Liam asked, feigning innocence. Harry could feel it coming before it came, like a cold winter breeze seeped into the room and stole all the warmth on contact.

Liam kneed him in the gut, and Niall kicked the back on his knees out so he fell to the hard wood floor, clutching his bruised abdomen. He gasped for breath, but it was no use because Liam was stealing it from him yet again.

The two older men began hitting and kicking him; beating on him like there was no tomorrow. Harry lost his ability to breathe at some point but he wasn't quite sure when. He just sobbed, clenched his eyes shut as tight as possible to shield himself from reality.

It was brutal. He was completely vulnerable to them, naked and sprawled onto the floor while they were both completely clothed, wearing winter boots that he knew would make some interesting patterns on his pale skin.

It went on for a while. The throbbing in his side and his pounding heartbeat between his ears was all he could focus on. He curled into a ball, a futile attempt to protect his sensitive body from such harsh implications.

Harry felt iron on his tongue and his vision started to blear as the beating only got more intense. He could hardly muster enough energy to properly conduct respiration.

And it was a strange bliss that coursed through his spent body. He felt relieved, like he was proud for standing up for himself. That feeling he'd never trade for anything in the world. It was a once in a lifetime experience. It might have been his last lifetime experience, but that was okay. Harry wasn't afraid of death and if they killed him tonight, he couldn't find it in himself to be distraught about it.

But all too soon to draw near to the end, Liam was dragging him back into the bathroom, locking him up once more.

"You were my favorite too," Liam tutted, as if it were a damn shame. Harry just laid there on the cold tile, unfocused on the words nor their meaning.

He heard ringing, and that's when Liam slammed the door shut, the dank darkness enveloping his senses once again.

~ ❁ ~


	27. t w e n t y - s i x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more disturbing things mentioned and more emotional breakdowns. it gets less melancholic soon, i promise. this chapter is long af almost 7k

 

~ ❁ ~

The next day Liam let him out. It was Wednesday to be exact.

He bitterly said he didn't want Harry's corpse smelling up his room if he died from two days worth of lack of nutrition.

He was bruised all over, could hardly move and still refused to speak.

Liam left that day but Niall was there, like a guard dog, watching over the house and keeping the girls in fear. It was petty.

As soon as he was liberated, Harry - ironically - locked himself in the hallway bathroom to run a bath. Pat used to insist on helping him get better because that's just how she was, but Harry didn't normally like needing assistance from others when dealing with the aftermath of Liam's wrath. When he was hurting he often wanted to be left alone.

He gingerly washed his body, hyperaware of cuts and tears the claws of the beast had left.

He tried his best, but he was completely wrecked. No matter how he moved and every time he breathed, he was reminded of Liam's anger.

He did all he could then got out of the bath. He dried off, dressed in comfort clothes: boxers, sweats, a cotton tee and a hoodie. Both mentally and physically he was too exhausted to put anymore of his energy into his outfit.

He ate breakfast like a wild animal, ravenous from the twenty-four hours Liam starved him.

The whole house was bustling about, minding their own business more than usual and acting as if everything was perfectly normal. Which was strange. Harry knew it was a rarity for him to get punished. Most of the girls here now hadn't ever seen Harry post-punishment. That entire conforming period when he was eighteen had happened three years ago. He was mostly a good girl now. Or at least, he  _had_  been.

Harry honestly didn't know what to think. However, he found it interesting how no one even looked at him. All eyes were usually trained onto the victim several days after a punishment was given. Harry wondered why no one even asked him if he was okay. Which he wasn't, but.

Maybe they knew what he'd done.

Harry gulped from where he sat at the table, chewing a spoonful of cereal. Niall was sitting in the chair beside him, watching his every move.

He really hoped Liam hadn't told them; turned his sisters against him. They were the only family he had right now. If Liam spilled his secret than they would never look at him the same again. Cheating was the worst you could do. It was what everyone wanted to do, of course, and no one hesitated to rant on behind Liam's back about their wishes. But the moment someone actually committed, they became unclean; seemingly untouchable.

Harry wouldn't be able to handle it if the whole house hated him. But he needed the money and he'd never apologize for the times he spent with Louis. Those few hours a night were so precious to him and probably all he had left now were those memories. Harry wasn't smart, but he could tell when enough was enough. He'd pushed Liam to the edge and he was definitely nearing a red zone.

But still. Harry needed the girls. He felt bubbles in his tummy as he looked around. He hoped they weren't mad at him. He wanted them to understand.

He got brave, looked up to see Mariana holding baby Harrie while Lauren and Joe spoke in the living room. The television was blasting and Keshia was sitting beside Liza. They were talking, Harry observed. They looked like they were enjoying the illusion, with smiles on their faces. Harry smirked sadly to himself.

He'd missed his shift last night at the club. Harry guessed Liam settled that with Manny. But he didn't know.

All he was thinking about, as toxic as it might be, was Louis. He was thinking about what Louis would say. If he ever saw him again, that is. He was worried and his palms clammed at the thought. He'd stood Louis up. He'd never showed at the club. He was so tired of letting people down. Especially himself.

Mariana sat down at the table next to he and Niall, unbothered by his blue death stare.

"What's up?" She said to Harry, gently rocking the baby in her arms. Harrie lifted her tiny hands up, grasped Mari's top and pulled.

Harry desperately wanted to touch his black eye, but he refrained. He didn't want to make it any worse.

"Nothing," he said, honestly. Nothing was up anymore.

"Are you okay?" She asked, a hard but concerned expression on her face. Harry nodded, his head down. He was honestly ashamed to look any higher.

"You sure? Shit - you know I'm sorry," Mariana told him as he pried Harrie's fists away from her breasts.

It wasn't long that Niall got up from the table because Ira walked into the room. Harry didn't have the strength to react to his anger about that.

"I didn't know she would be such a little bitch about it," She sighed, clearly pissed about Keshia narking. Harry appreciated Mariana's empathy, but he didn't blame anyone but himself for it. That's what it boiled down to.

Harry had retained the money and hid it from his pimp. He'd broken a simple rule and recompensed for his actions. It was in no way Keshia's fault and he was tired of thinking about it.

"Wasn't her fault," Harry said, dropping his spoon into the bowl with a clank.

"Still," Mariana grumbled to herself.

All was silent for a while. Harry watched Niall verbally abuse Ira, listened to Lauren and Joe arguing and caught a glimpse of Sandra giving him a dirty look. Harry sighed.

"Do they know?" He asked Mari.

She raised her eyebrows.

"That I stole?"

She nodded, told him that it wasn't exactly a secret. They had all heard Liam yelling and interrogating him the day prior. None of them wanted to get involved since they knew he was probably bitter, she said. He had been Liam's favorite after all.

"Did he... do anything to you?" Harry asked, cringing before he even heard her response.

"No," she shook her head quickly, assuring him otherwise. That she was perfectly fine and he hadn't even come to her about anything.

Harry was only slightly convinced, and halfway relieved.

"You working tonight?" She asked.

"I guess," he shrugged. It hurt his body to make the gesture.

He wasn't sure if Liam was truly done punishing him or whether he was just being allowed to have a meal. Either way, he didn't know. He wanted to get out of the house but at the same time he didn't think he'd be able to do any real movement, so club dancing wasn't exactly a possibility.

Plus, Liam probably wouldn't trust him to leave after knowing he was keeping secrets from him. He'd probably lost Liam's trust too along with his favoritism.

Harry exhaled, tilted his head back against the chair. It was even painful to breathe.

"I'll get this for you," she winced as he placed his hand over the tightness in his chest.

She stood and took baby Harrie as well as full-grown Harry's bowl of milk to the kitchen. He thanked her with his eyes closed, just sat still and let his tattered body rest for a minute.

~ ❁ ~

It turned out, Liam wanted him to work. He said no one else got days off when they were punished and neither should Harry, especially considering what he'd done.

So when Liam found Harry in comfort clothes curled up under his covers groaning in agony, he yelled at him to get out of the bed and made him get dressed.

Harry was in so much pain he cried, pulled his sweater over his head and then draped the coat over his shoulders.

His joints were sore and his back was killing him softly. His sides were purple and blue and some spots a yellowish green. His right eye was completely swollen and a darkish purple. He couldn't see out of it at all. Then his back was all cut up from Liam's leather fucking belt and Harry could hardly breathe let alone move around with the body he was in right now. He needed some time to heal.

But Liam wasn't having it, so Harry slipped his boots on at the door and walked out of the house.

He took the bus with Mariana as always, her taking obvious glances at his busted lip and wondering why Liam would make him work in such a poor condition. Harry was well aware because he was thinking the same thing.

It wasn't rational nor sensical. Harry couldn't make much money in this state so it was practically pointless for him to go out tonight. 

But Liam always got his way. No matter how stupid his commands were. Harry shook his head to himself and sighed.

He wasn't having that bullshit anymore.

They parted at the bus stop and Mariana waved before traveling up the street, her stilettos clacking against the tarmac with every step she took.

Harry meandered over to the nearest pay phone he saw and jangled through the loose change in his pocket.

He reached into his pocket, retrieved the little slips of paper Louis had given him. Harry bit his lip as he flipped through them, finding the right one.

And Harry wasn't sure this was the right thing to do. He was scared, his hand clammy against the black phone. He twiddled with the silver wire, debating on whether or not he should do it.

It was Louis, after all. Louis who never judged him nor showed contempt to him all those times Harry appeared on his doorstep seeking something more. Louis chased after him, kept coming back and never gave up even though Harry tried to push him away. Louis listened to him talk about his mother and his old home, how he felt so broken inside that he threw his life away and hit the streets unaware of the pain he'd later inflict upon himself. Louis was always there for Harry and promised him that he could always come to him if he needed anything at all.

But then there was Liam. Liam had found out about his stealing game. He'd found out that Harry was shirking his responsibilities, and maybe he didn't know the reason why, but he knew it was going on. Liam had just punished him. He was unable to move and he knew he couldn't perform in Manny's club tonight. That wasn't happening. Harry knew Liam would find out about him skipping it and probably be even more pissed, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore. No matter what he did Liam would always want more of him, but frankly, Harry was tired and had enough of Liam's dictation over his life.

And maybe Louis would one day realize that Harry wasn't worth his time. Maybe Louis would eventually want a toy that wasn't broken, but while Harry had him around he was certainly going to utilize his services. Though Louis may not have truly wanted Harry after that, he was going to give it a try anyway. He had no other place to go and if he stayed out here someone - meaning his boss - might see him and tell Liam he'd been shirking off again.

It was reality against his thoughts. When Harry rationalized it like that, it was a no-brainer. 

So he put his quarters in and dialed the number, hoping and praying Louis would pick up since he had no more money left.

He listened to the hum of the line, anxiously anticipating Louis's voice. He closed his eyes and begged all forces of divinity, like a mantra chanted  _please please please_  and the universe must have heard his desperations because -

"... hello?" Louis answered.

"Louis," Harry breathed, in relief.

"Who is this?"

Harry felt tears forming in his eyes he was so happy. He wiped his face and held the ice cold phone closer to his ear.

"It's Harry," he cried, weakly, hoping Louis would understand.

"Oh shit-where are you? What happened yesterday?"

"I-I can't talk right now, Lou. I don't have anymore money, I just... I need you. Please, help me," he sobbed. He never knew how beautiful those words would sound when he finally spoke them in the utmost depths of humility.

"Where are you?" Louis asked seriously this time. Harry could briefly hear him rustling with papers in the background, like he'd been working when he got the call.

"I'm at this pay phone... on the corner of North Delaware avenue by the dance club," Harry blubbered, hoping Louis would hear him.

"I'm leaving right now. I'm coming to get you, alright? Stay put," he assured him. Harry heard him slipping his shoes on and opening his apartment door.

"Okay. Thank you," Harry made sure to say through his tears, his voice quivering with every word he spoke.

Louis stayed on the line with him as he went down to the parking garage and Harry heard his voice echoing and the chirp of the car when he unlocked it. He asked Harry if he was okay and Harry told him no. For the most part Harry just sobbed as Louis shushed him with reassurances; told him it was going to be okay, told him he was on his way and that he would be safe and sound soon enough.

Louis talked to him until the line went dead and after only a few moments of Harry standing out in the cold alone, there was Louis's car, speeding around the corner and stopping a few feet away from where he stood beside the bus stop bench.

Louis got out of the car and jogged over to Harry. The younger man couldn't even smile to express his overwhelming joy when he saw him. Harry cried because that's all he could do.

He put his arms over Louis's shoulders and sobbed into his neck. Louis gingerly put his own arms around the wailing man, unsure since Harry said he wasn't fine. Harry appreciated that so fucking much it made his chest ache.

"What's wrong?" Louis asked, genuinely concerned. Harry knew he'd never cried in Louis's presence before. He came close, of course, but he never liked crying in front of people.

It only made sense he'd feel more comfortable with Louis since Louis made him feel human; like he had real thoughts and emotions and feelings. Harry wasn't just a tool or a product or a possession with Louis.

"Are you okay, Harry? Y-you're really frightening me, Love," he stammered, patting his back as gently as possible.

"No," Harry mumbled, his face buried in Louis's shirt.

It was the stone cold truth. Harry was drained of his innate temperament to lie to conceal his emotions. He was empty and exhausted and sick of having to strain; give up what he himself lacked.

Louis let him cry all he needed to before he even began hassling him about what was going on.

Louis's worries were everything to Harry and he was completely enamored by the way Louis's voice sounded when he asked if he was feeling okay. Oddly enough, he didn't mind his concern one bit.

Right now it was the best feeling in the world to know that someone was looking out for him; that someone cared for him and his wellbeing. It was just what he needed. Louis was always good at knowing what he needed.

When Harry pulled back Louis was frowning. He tenderly placed his warm right hand on Harry's cold cheek, dusted back some loose curls to see the swell of his eye.

"Oh... what happened?" Louis asked once again, anger forming for the one who touched him with fire singed fingertips.

Harry shook his head, still uncomfortable with the love Louis wanted to give. He didn't want Louis to know just yet. He was ashamed of what Louis would think - worried it would compromise the way Louis felt about him.

Louis took Harry's flaccid hand from where it hung beside him, dusting his thumb over his pale knuckles.

And neither said anything for a while after that.

He wasn't sure what to say and he was almost positive Louis felt the same way.

But he wasn't worried or stressed. He told himself to relax; took a breath and closed his eyes.

Harry felt good in Louis's presence. He felt like everything was going to be okay, even if the world was a sphere of confusion and mass destruction.

Louis led him to his car, pushing against the bitter winter wind.

He opened the door for Harry before going over to the driver's side. 

~ ❁ ~

Louis took Harry home.

He unlocked the door to his flat and let Harry in first. Louis locked up behind him and then took Harry's coat from him.

"Are you hungry?" Louis asked him as he hung up his and Harry's coat on the hook by the door.

Harry glanced up at him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"I could make you something," Louis suggested, stepped closer to him, unbuttoning and rolling his sleeves up.

Harry shook his head.

"You want to talk?"

Harry felt more tears come to his eyes. Of course not. No one wants to talk about the things that cause them the most pain.

Harry sighed, and Louis showed him to the living room instead, switching tactics.

"You can sit if you'd like. I'll get you some ice for that eye," Louis went into the kitchen and rifled around in the freezer.

Harry sat on the couch and folded his hands in his lap, looking around.

It was the same way it had always been. The dark wood coffee table was in front of the couch and the flat screen was straight ahead. Louis was in his kitchen with his granite counters and island stove. He had a nice black refrigerator and a wooden table in the little dining area. The floor was a glossy light brown wood in the living room, a smooth cream colored tile in the kitchen and a soft white carpet in Louis's bedroom.

It always smelled good in Louis's apartment, like seasonal air fresheners and home cooked meals. The place wasn't spotless, but it was clean. Louis was an organized man and Harry felt so out of place. As usual.

"Sure I can't get you anything? Nothing to drink... or?" Louis asked as he handed Harry the ice wrapped in a dish cloth.

"Um, no thank you. I'm alright," Harry said, accepting the ice.

Louis sat down beside him on the couch, left a comfortable amount of space between them for Harry's sake. Harry appreciated his conscientiousness.

They two sat in silence for a while as Harry held the ice to his bruised eye.

"So what's going on? What happened to your eye?" Louis asked finally, swallowing hard once the words were out.

Harry breathed out, eyes fluttering shut.

"I did a stupid thing..." He whispered, refusing to look Louis in the eye.

"What do you mean?" Louis asked softly.

He'd stopped crying a bit ago, but Louis's overbearing concern was really pushing him there again.

"I stole money from Liam," Harry said, wincing as he shifted.

"Are you hurt?" Louis asked, visibly aware of the look of discomfort in his face.

Harry nodded slowly.

"Is it bad?"

Harry nodded.

Louis stood up with a heavy breath, cautiously helped Harry stand and took him to the bathroom.

"Will you let me see? Or-"

Harry nodded and sat on the edge of the tub, pulled his sweater over his head so that his hair flopped out all over his face.

He heard Louis curse when he saw his battered body, the hideous bruises and gashes they had marked him with in the name of justification.

"It just... it really hurts," Harry chuckled dryly, watching as Louis's rummaged through his medicine cabinet.

Harry took note of the things Louis retrieved, from the painkillers to the ointment, then under the sink for the medical tape, the sterile solution and gauze pads.

Louis ran the bath water and tested it against his hand. When it was a warm enough temperature he then went to the get a wash cloth from the linen closet.

Against his now weak inner will to protest it, Harry stayed silent and let Louis take care of him. He winced a little, but Louis was gentle enough. He sat on the closed toilet lid, cleaned Harry's cuts. None were too deep, they just stung.

Harry stared at the tile of the floor as Louis patched him up. He was already starting to scar from the belt burns he acquired two days prior, so Louis only applied a dollop of ointment to the particularly bad gashes on his back.

Harry blushed the whole time. It was sad, really. He wasn't use to this kind of tenderness and affection. He thought it was crazy that Louis would take time out of his busy week, on a work night, so he could tend to Harry's wounds.

It was beautiful.  
Louis made him feel so many things all at once.

He felt Louis's gentle hands working, heard his voice soothing across his shoulders and against his ear. Louis asked him about every five seconds how he was feeling, if what he was doing was okay, made sure he wasn't hurting him any more than he already was. Harry wasn't in any pain. He couldn't be when he had Louis to relinquish all the bad from his body, both physical and emotional.

When Louis finished, Harry pulled his shirt back on. Louis gave him some painkillers for the ache and filled him a glass of water from the kitchen.

He told Harry he should lay down for a bit, then gave him a throw blanket and a pillow.

Louis told him he had to finish some things for work and that the medicine should make him a little drowsy.

So Harry rested on the couch while Louis worked on the laptop in his bedroom.

Louis was making pasta at ten o'clock and he insisted that Harry have something to eat. When Harry woke up an hour and a half later that evening, Louis served him a bowl with marinara sauce and a fork.

They ate their meals sitting on the couch together, only silence filling the dead space between their awkwardly shifting bodies.

Louis took Harry's empty bowl and his own dish to the sink.

And Harry wanted to talk to Louis. He wanted to talk to someone about the things he'd experienced, but he just wasn't sure how to start. He supposed that was always how it was.

"Lou?" He asked, leaning back against the couch.

Louis turned his attention to him instantly. "Yep,"

"Thank you," Harry said again. He knew it would never be enough, but he knew he had to try.

He held the warm blanket Louis bestowed upon him over his lower half, fiddled with a few loose strands on the seam.

"No need to thank me. 'Said you could always come to me," Louis assured him, placed a warm hand on his thigh before moving away again. Harry missed his warmth immediately.

Harry knew he should have to talk. Louis was wonderful not to push it, but it wasn't fair. He should at least have knowledge of what happened. If Louis chose to dump him on the street corner afterward, it was better sooner than later Harry figured.

Harry slowly crawled across the couch, cringing at the pull in his bruised body before he settled against Louis's side. He didn't touch him, just sat next to him and draped the throw blanket over both of their laps.

Louis glanced at him with heavy lidded eyes, just awaiting whatever it was he decided to do. Harry loved being able to decide and make his own choices when with Louis.

He carded a shaky hand through his curls, licked his dry lips before he found the right words to voice his thoughts.

"The day you took me out... that was Monday," Harry breathed, only just realizing how hard it would be to do this.

Louis paid him all his attention, and in Harry's peripherals he could see Louis's eyes keenly focusing on the movement of his lips.

"On Sunday... he, um..."

Harry closed his eyes.

Louis leaned in closer.

"He came into the house... looking for me, and. He came to my room and got me," 

Harry didn't want to see Louis's reaction to the things he was about to say to him. Louis was stupid, for wanting to know. After all this time, Harry wanted to forget.

"He always..." Harry sighed, violently chewing his bottom lip.

"He gets high and, doesn't remember it. He always said I was his favorite, but. I never knew why... until... he'd tell me to take my clothes off and I'd do it, you know? I didn't question him, after awhile," Harry gulped, his hands twisting together in his lap.

He didn't think he'd ever been more nervous than when he sat beside someone like Louis, pouring out years of pent up hurt and anger. It should have felt good. Instead, Harry only felt more like shit.

"He... he raped you?" Louis asked, losing his breath. He probably couldn't believe it. Harry guessed he'd been pretty good at it then; succeeded in hiding his pain all this time.

Harry nodded, blinking distantly.

"A lot, sort of. He picked me up when I was eighteen. After I realized what he wanted from me... I definitely didn't- cooperate with him. I thought he was sick for even..."

Louis took a chance, reached his hand over and covered Harry's bigger one. Harry accepted it, turned his palm over to feel Louis's touch.

"I tried to run away a few times. Each time it just got worse and worse and I couldn't fight him off. I was weak after he'd beat on me. I'd be fucked up... bleeding and shit..." Harry sighed, chest expanding, lungs deflating.

Louis held his hand, thumb soothing circles into his knuckles. Harry never knew how comforting gentle touch could be. He'd completely forgotten the feel of it. His skin was scarred and calloused now; never to be the same.

"'Had to teach me to listen and to obey. He'd still do it even after he broke me in... he'd come get me from my room at night,"

Louis listened, but looked like he was going to be sick.

"... I think he wanted to hurt me, sometimes. Like he'd do it on purpose," Harry whispered.

Last night had been part of his punishment and motivated by Liam's desire to know just what had been going on beneath his radar. Harry knew that.

But when he was younger he felt like when all those times Liam collected him in the middle of the night he'd done it to fulfill his guilty pleasures, to rape a teen boy and tell him not to scream when he pushed in unprepared.

Maybe it was to build up his ego - knowing Harry, a broad shouldered, deep voiced challenge could never stave him off. Liam would call him one of the girls, dress him up in all kinds of slutty lingerie and make up to demean him. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing for Harry to do, to take that kind of psychological abuse and the ruthless rape. It was so well devised and effectively crushed his true self esteem.

When he was finished with his duties for the night, he would often lay there in the tangled mess of bed linen, tracing patterns on Liam's bare back, dust his fingertips against the scruff of his beard, then smooth his index finger over the plump of his lower lip; silently ask Liam  _why_? He lost his heartbeat between the sheets of that bed.

Eventually Liam wasn't always so barbarous when they fucked, but it was still burned into Harry's mind - every bit of the pain Liam had caused him in order to get him to acquiesce. 

"He has rules... they're simple. I just... I don't know. I've never been able to follow them without hating myself for it. I took the money instead of just handing it over to him like the other girls do. And when you do something wrong, you get punished," Harry finished, leaning his head on Louis's shoulder. He was tired now and didn't feel like thinking about it anymore.

Harry also knew he could never tell Louis about the punishment he took for sneaking out to visit him. He'd have to tell him a different way because he didn't want Louis experiencing any guilt.

"So he... he did all this to you? All the... bruises?" Louis gave his hand a tiny squeeze. Harry swallowed, nuzzled his head closer to Louis's warm neck. The vibrations of his concerns resonated in Harry's skull.

He hummed in response.

"How many of you are there? Being forced to live under those conditions with him?" Louis asked, finally showing his true feelings about the entire situation. Harry found that he didn't mind it anymore. He'd like his someone to care.

"Seven. Oldest one is Ira, she's late twenties I think. Keshia is the youngest," Harry sighed, thinking of the poor innocent soul.

"... and how old is she?" Louis asked, his other hand stroking carefully over Harry's side, avoiding his wounds.

"... thirteen," Harry admitted, his voice muffled into Louis's tanner skin.

Louis cursed, tilting his head against the back of the couch. It was pretty crazy; horribly overwhelming to hear of a world where people don't have to same freedoms, though they dwell in the same country. Western slavery, right in their district.

Louis didn't know what to say after that, Harry realized. But the silence that engulfed them was comfortable.

Because Harry truly feel safe with Louis, like he'd never have to run from anyone or anything. Harry knew there was always something about Louis that made him feel different. In a good way.

Harry felt special, unique, and irreplaceable. He wasn't just a broken soul, lost in a swarm of sweaty bodies in a club. He wasn't just an empty chest. He wasn't just another pair of heels pattering against the cold hard sidewalk. He wasn't just glassy eyes and choked gasps. He wasn't simply a runaway, or a whore. He had Louis's heart. And Louis could never see him as what Harry thought he was, nor compare him to any of those things.

Harry knew that Louis first saw him in the club when he was at the ripe illegal age of nineteen- much too young and terrified to be on that lit stage slowing time down for anyone in the crowd. The night they went out to eat, Louis had told him about how he'd come back to see Harry once a week to watch him dance and flirt with older men. Louis told him that he'd never worked up the courage to talk to him until two years later, when he'd been at the club with a group of friends and they'd teased him about watching the pale boy in the tight spandex shorts and the lips like rose petals in avid fascination.

Harry hadn't known what to say to Louis after hearing that. He'd sort of wished Louis kept the nostalgic musings to himself, because in that moment Harry had realized the effect he had on Louis. And he felt bad for hurting Louis that way. Harry was very accustomed to breaking hearts, but he never wanted Louis to feel such an ache. He didn't deserve it, for all the good he'd done in Harry's life.

All good things were fleeting, and he still knew Louis was stupid for ever thinking Harry could ever truly be his.

"You know what he makes me do?" Harry sat up a little, looking Louis in the eye.

Louis frowned, shook his head. His hand slipped from Harry's waist to the small of his back as their comfortable position was shaken.

"He makes me sleep with them," Harry looked down, swallowing thickly. He felt like if anything could do it - drive Louis away from him - this certainly would.

"...sleep... sleep with who?" Louis asked, and his hand paused soothing circles into Harry's back.

And he took a tremulous breath and blinked twice, three times as he thought about what he was about to do.

Did he really want Louis to hate him?

"... he makes me sleep with the, uh... the younger girls, like, to make sure they can -" Harry couldn't finish, felt tears welling in his eyes already. This was probably the hardest thing he'd ever had to say in his life. 

But Louis didn't push him away or interrupt him to kick him out. That was on the positive note. But Harry hardly got another word out before he realized just what was happening.

The dam, the walls and the boundaries were all collapsing- being unsalvageably crushed under the weight of his emotions and all those constrained thoughts and feelings from years and years came spilling out.

From that first fucking night he'd spent with Justin, crying and begging him to stop -

To the first grown man he'd ever slept with, at sixteen years old -

To the countless others, most of which he couldn't even remember -

To Liam's inhumanity, his maliciousness and his rough hands -

To those poor little virgins, innocent and confused as to why,  _why_  he was hurting them, making them feel like they were being torn apart from the inside out-

And Harry clenched his eyes shut as a sob tore past his vocal chords.

It was all too much.

After all this time, there was no stopping it now. He could feel the soreness of his body and it was a cruel reminder of what expansive harm he'd done to those few children.

And he didn't even know where they were now, what Liam even did with them or did to them after his obligation had been fulfilled. Harry had tried so hard to block out those memories but before Lauren there was Amanda and Eloise and Katie and Tanya and even if that didn't seem like a lot, their voices still echoed in the back of his mind. When he laid awake in agony he heard their pleas, weak and breathy and high pitched. Like ghosts, haunting him for the rest of his desolate life on this earth.

_Stop, please._

He wanted the pain to stop.

He wanted everything to just -  _please, stop hurting me._

He was losing his willpower.

His ascendancy was crumbling.

It was over; the game was over. He had lost.

_Help me._

Harry bore it all. He felt awful in every way a person can feel awful. Physical and mental and emotional pain was all he ever felt and here with Louis he felt like he was losing control over those parts of him. Louis's presence was bringing them out, eliciting the hurt he'd compressed; inflating it.

"First time... I-I wanted to - but  _only_  because I  _know_  what it's like to take someone without being properly prepared. I know it's different for girls, but... the guys he sells the virgins to, they pay a lot of money and they're not gentle, just vicious- like  _animals_ ,"

He rubbed his hand on Harry's back as he began to cry real tears; stinging, burning, salty anger and frustration and dejection pooling in his eyes and sloping down his face. Louis gathered some tissues from the box on his coffee table with his other hand.

"And I just... I don't want them to hurt like I did, Lou. It hurts so bad... all the time and I don't know how to make it go away," Harry belted, his voice cracking on more than the first couple of phrases.

Harry took the tissue gratefully and dabbed at his eyes and coughed into his arm, choking on his own saliva like a sick dog. He was such a mess, but he hardly felt embarrassed when Louis was looking at him like that.

"And she's just... she's so young, and she got all these-these  _hopes_  and  _dreams_. " he continued, blubbering.

"Like, she has these, golden brown curls and they're gorgeous, Lou and her hands look so small compared to mine. And-and I just... I  _can't_  hurt her. How am I supposed to...? I just, I  _can't_ ," Harry cried, burying his face in his hands, trying to move away from Louis. Louis wasn't having any of it.

The older man pulled him closer, held him close to his chest, tugged him along so they sat curled up in the corner of the couch. Harry just wailed into Louis's shirt, stains creating wet spots in the fabric. Harry couldn't even gather himself enough to apologize.

He could hardly breathe, was wheezing so hard he was sure he'd work himself into an asthma attack or even worse, a panic attack. It wouldn't be the first time.

He'd experienced them before, had woken up in the middle of the night unable to move, stared at the ceiling as that tingling feeling shot up his spine. His stomach would churn and his neck would stiffen and he'd be completely unable to move or make any sounds other than petrified whimpers until it stopped. He knew what it was like to not be able to get oxygen into his lungs. He knew what it felt like to die. He'd done it many times and in multifarious ways.

"Shh, sh, Harry breathe, please," Louis begged him, gently pressed his lips to Harry's head.

But Harry couldn't breathe. He lost that ability long ago.

" _Please_ ," Louis sighed, his voice still the most comforting thing Harry's ever heard. 

And eventually his body could physically conduct respiration again. It wasn't for a long time, though. Louis held him all throughout the hard part, arms careful against his sore body.

Harry's head was pounding by the time the tears finally stopped. He was just so tired, so beat down, and Louis was the only one in his life who seemed to realize that; the only one who cared.

And Harry wanted to always be around him.

But he belonged to someone else.

(Even if Harry didn't really believe that.)

They ended up laying sideways on the couch, Harry with his head pressed to Louis's chest as the older man's fingers played with his. 

It was always simple, with Louis. Harry wasn't sure if, even knowing the horrid things Liam forced him to do and be, Louis still felt the same about him. It didn't seem to affect his opinion of Harry and if anything, it only made him more concerned about the whole situation. But Harry couldn't say or think anything for certain. He just kept quiet, hoping he was right.

"Please stay," Louis pleaded with him when he started to get up. It was pretty late, Harry figured, going to rub his black eye before he thought better of it.

"Please, Harry don't... don't go back there, without..." Louis sighed, placing his hand on the side of Harry's neck and urged him to look at him.

Harry did, reluctant to see what else Louis could possibly have to offer a wretched soul such as he.

"What?" Harry asked, tiredly. He blinked slow awaiting, anticipating.

"Just... stay here. With me. At least for tonight," Louis bargained, thumb stroking against the swell of Harry's ruddy cheek.

"He'll be angry with me, Lou. I skipped my shift at the club to come here, I can't-"

"Harry, I just... I don't want you to get hurt anymore. You're in no condition to be doing any work. Just... let me look after you," Louis said with glistening eyes. Harry hated that he had to put him through this, but things couldn't be like he wanted them to.

"Louis, I-"

"I know, I'm not... I know you don't belong to me. I learned that lesson," Harry smiled weakly at the memory of the rouge handprint he'd left on Louis's face. Louis chuckled dryly as he pulled him closer, and Harry rested his ear over the steady beat of Louis's heart.

Harry wondered what it felt like to be alive.

"I just want to make sure you're alright," Louis sighed, stroking his hand down Harry's back.

And Harry knew he shouldn't. He knew he would bring even more trouble on himself, and the only thing that was reminding him of that was the voice of Liam in his subconscious mind, warning him of the consequences.

In all honesty, though, Harry liked Louis's voice a lot better.

~ ❁ ~


	28. t w e n t y - s e v e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for minor character death by suicide. may be triggering. reader discretion is advised. also this is the climax chapter. after this point things start to cool down.

 

~ ❁ ~

For once, Harry got a good night's sleep. The light sound of rain pattering against the flat windows was what woke him. He was laying on his front, probably to keep the pressure off of his aching wounds. 

He turned around and sat up in the familiar queen sized bed, squinted to find a sleeping figure next to him. He was a man; quite petite with golden skin and a tuft of soft chestnut brown hair barely visible from under the duvet. He was very pretty in the face, with long delicate lashes fluttering against his perfectly sculpted cheekbones whenever he breathed, a cute button nose that twitched every so often and sweet pink lips slightly parted, a raw temptation for Harry to take. The man was breathing shallowly, steadily. He was still in a deep sleep.

Harry sighed. His next thought was what time it was.

It was ironic in the least humorous way how on any other occasion, Harry would have been panicking; worrying about when he had gotten here last night and how he was going to get home. He would normally have been stressing over his impending punishment as a result of being disobedient and breaking curfew or skipping his shift in order to stay at Louis's.

But frankly, Harry didn't give a shit anymore.

Harry glanced at the digital clock on Louis's bedside table.

'  **7 : 42**  AM '

Louis worked nine to five during the work week. Harry did some thinking and realized that the man probably wouldn't be getting up until eight since his job was fifteen minutes from where he lived.

So Harry wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. And he had already completely thrown caution to the wind and fucked Liam's rules anyway. Harry couldn't go back in time and change that (he would never, even if given the opportunity). 

What would it matter if he stayed a few more hours with the man?

Harry laid back on the soft, but firm mattress, tucking the comforter over his chest with a delighted hum.

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, forcing himself to forget all practicalities for the time being. Harry felt himself falling back to sleep after awhile.

~ ❁ ~

He didn't get back to the house until eight thirty in the morning.

When Louis had finally woken him up it was time to leave. Louis said he wanted to let Harry rest as long as possible, knowing he wouldn't get much recovery time at his own place.

Harry tumbled out of the bed dressed in Louis's clothes: a pair of pajama pants and a warm oversized crew neck. Louis told him he could keep them if he wanted, but Harry declined. He felt as though he'd already taken enough (too much) from Louis. So Harry pulled on his fairly clean jeans and sweater from yesterday.

Louis had made sure Harry took two more doses of pain relievers, put them in a little plastic sandwich bag for him to have. Louis insisted he'd let Harry have the whole bottle had it not been for his Saturday afternoon migraines. Bless his heart.

Harry slipped on his shoes and took his coat from the rack at the door before Louis grabbed his car keys and they left.

Harry still hadn't devised an adequate way to thank Louis for his overflowing kindness toward him. Surely he had to think of something, though. 

He had bought Harry breakfast on the way and he scarfed it down graciously, thanking Louis through the warmth of his English muffin.

He'd pecked Louis on the lips and the older man smiled weakly, before reluctantly letting Harry leave him.

Harry crept inside the house, quietly. He knew the girls who were out late working last night wouldn't be up yet, so he didn't want to be a dick and wake them.

Also, Liam was probably bloodthirsty. Manny no doubt gave him a call, mentioned something about Harry not showing up for work.

Harry was just so over this never ending cycle.

He went into his room and took off his coat. He was going to use the bathroom because he really had to piss, but the light was on and the door was barred, so he crept back into his room instead.

He plopped onto the bed and kicked off his boots. His sides and his back still hurt like hell. And his eye was still sore, but he was starting to get use to the constant ache. He would have to. His body wasn't going to heal over night.

Mentally, Harry was drained since his epiphany last night. It was so much to handle all at once, but the moment Harry started to explain how he felt he just couldn't stop. So many years of anger and confusion and frustration just started gushing from his tattered patchwork, tearing his sloppy seams.

He felt as though telling Louis all of what pain he felt for three long years dug up all the skeletons of his past, pulled them back up to the surface so that Harry could feel distraught once again.

And Harry was glad to have Louis around. He knew it was wonderful to have someone who would listen to him cry if that's what he needed. Harry never knew how good it could feel to be able to confide in someone. He'd never had anyone who could truly fill that empty void.

It was just hard to have to accept it all at once. To have to process all of the pain and acknowledge himself as one big fuck up. Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to wrap his mind around that.

He laid on his back on the bed, staring up at the dusty vent in the ceiling for a while that morning.

It wasn't until too nine or ten that Harry decided to get up.

He changed into some more comfortable clothes, before he snuck into the kitchen to see if he could find something else to eat.

He sat on the couch with a banana, peeled it down and stuck the fruit into his mouth. He just decided to spend the morning with his thoughts, chewed slowly as he waded out the inevitable.

Harry was tossing his banana peel into the trash can in the kitchen when he was viciously grabbed from behind.

And Harry was getting really sick and tired of being manhandled in all directions. He was a human being for fuck's sake. Louis was the one who reminded him of that and ever since said revelation Harry hadn't been able to forget it.

He was shoved into the nearest wall with such a force that pain surged through his tender back muscles. Harry wasn't sure why he was startled. He knew even more trouble was coming for him the moment he got in the passenger's seat of Louis's car yesterday.

"What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?!" Liam gritted, his eyes wide brimmed.

Harry closed his mouth.

"Huh?" Liam asked again, tightening his hold on Harry's shirt and pressing him even harder into the wall.

Harry blinked.

"Manny called me, you  _pussy_. You never even showed up. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Harry looked away, chose to stare at the floor between them instead of making eye contact.

"You're really fucking stupid if you thought that," Liam grunted, and Harry had no doubt he would use his last dying breath to depreciate Harry in every way he felt possible. Harry gulped. He found it chilling the amount of insecurities he realized he had because of Liam.

He'd worked through a lot of them with Louis last night, felt as though he'd been given therapy; a chance to work things out so he could understand that the root of his emotional and psychological disorders were seeded through this abusive male.

But now that he could fathom that, he'd realized Liam was just another confused and corrupted human being like the rest of them. He didn't really have any "power" over Harry at all.

"What, you think I don't know where the fuck you are and what you're doing all the time?!" He went on.

Harry let him talk, let him yell and scream his unstable head off if that was what Liam wished to do. It was all bullshit. He had nothing to say to the man. Harry was no longer going to indulge in these petty power plays. Nothing good ever came of them.

"I just... I don't understand what's happening with you," Liam said after a moment, sounding slightly vulnerable. Insecurity was fairly evident.

Which was strange in part because, Liam definitely wasn't a vulnerable guy. He was strong, Harry had to admit. Liam was very skilled at masking his feelings. That in itself was a difficult task to master. It took years of practice. Liam didn't crumble in the way others did. He channeled his disquietude into something lethal - a unique kind of red hot fury that gave him the edge needed to control a house full of loud, stubborn, hormonal bitches. He gave no leeway. Liam stood his ground and couldn't be shaken by anyone.

But as of late he had been rather emotional. In giving Harry his punishment, Liam was angry with him, probably felt betrayed like the other girls for being so cleverly lied to for so long. Liam was obviously very frustrated and felt - dare Harry think it -  _helpless_  when Harry refused to answer him obediently.

When Liam confronted him, Harry kept a straight face, with the pretense of feeling unaffected, or blasé toward Liam's attempt to reimpose his superiority. Harry held the reigns so tightly in fact his palms were blistered red and chaffing. It wasn't necessarily painless. It was like holding a heavy block of ice in his hands. It burned, but after awhile he became numb to it. Harry wouldn't feed into the psychological warfare. He fought his own emotions with silence; chose not to throw gasoline on a raging fire.

And that seemed to pose a challenge to his pimp. It was like Liam's well trained dog, his favorite toy - was deliberately and defiantly pissing on the carpet. Harry was taught better,  _knew_  better than to step to Liam's authority, but he had never felt more sick and tired of everything about this place and he would no longer hold in his anger.

"Is this about the girl?" He asked. "'cause I really don't have the time to start punishing you every day like I used to," Liam said, seriously. Those dark brown eyes scanned over Harry's face, took in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Liam was trying to understand, Harry realized. But he could never.

"If you're planning to run away again... you- you can go right ahead. You know what'll happen if you do," Liam challenged quickly, releasing his hold on Harry's shirt. Harry eyed his calloused hands as they slipped away, uncertainty surging through his veins as he tried to decipher Liam's words as a warning or a threat.

"You're  _mine_ ," Liam muttered to himself, petulantly.

Harry breathed out sharply, nostrils flaring. Liam was disgusting to think so.

"If ... if you try to  _leave_  me..." Liam trailed, his voice dissipating into the tense air. Harry made eye contact with him for a split second, regret it almost immediately when those bullet blown pupils focused in on his.

Harry knew he was not Liam's. He didn't have Liam's name inscribed into his skin, an emblem branded on his body or a tag around his collar solidifying his enslavement. He was a human being and didn't belong to anyone. Liam did not  _own_  him.

For so long he was torn between that; questioning who he was as a result of this constant abuse.

Fact of the matter was that Liam treated the girls in this house so poorly, took advantage of them and raped them, sold them off. It was abhorrent, right? And to most people - the majority of the cultured, westernized world - that was clear as day.

But it had taken Harry so long to come out of that ' _it is what it is_ ' mindset enough to realize that this man was a monster who needed to pay recompense or an least feel so kind of (highly unlikely) remorse. Liam was a piece of shit. He was literally scum. He was no good. He cheated them out of their earnings, stole their innocence, psychologically and physically abused them every day by keeping them here and holding them hostage from the world.

Harry knew something had to be done to stop him.

Hopefully it wasn't too late to try and fix some of the things he'd broken.

Hopefully Liam hadn't damaged his slaves, bent them beyond repair.

"So what's wrong with you? Huh? Have you forgotten who you belong to?" Liam asked.

Harry could feel the man's hot breath against his face, could see the pain, anger and outright confusion in his eyes and he wasn't sure how long he could keep quiet while Liam stood over him like this.

Harry closed his eyes, winced as Liam's hand came back up to his face, having thought the older man was going to strike him again.

But Liam just reached out, cupped his cheek, let his thumb stroke over Harry's bruised face.

Harry felt his chest burn, his fingers twitch where they hung by his sides.

Harry flinched again when Liam leaned forward, gently rested his forehead against his. They were actually about the same height, though Liam did try to act like he was much bigger. Harry still in some aspects felt he was, anyway.

He closed his eyes, tried his best not to breathe in the pungent odor of cannabis and broken dreams that Liam emitted.

He felt uncomfortable, this close to his pimp. Which was weird because. They'd been this close - even closer numerous times before. Liam had touched every part of Harry's body at one time or another. Physically - Liam probably knew him better than any other person in the world. Which was maybe (most definitely) why Harry felt so discomforted.

Because it was oddly intimate, in a way that wasn't blatantly sexual like Harry was used to. He didn't like it. Never had. He never felt he deserved to be Liam's favorite. Never understood why - in a house full of beautiful girls - Liam would choose him of all the others. Never understood why Liam wanted to hurt and torment him the most.

Harry didn't understand why Liam kissed him differently. He didn't understand why Liam hurt him differently. He didn't get why after all he'd been through, Liam still felt the pain wasn't toxic enough.

The shivers coursed through Harry's body; a soft plane of goosebumps elicited on his arms. The amount of time Liam stood there before him, forcing intimacy on him was far longer than Harry could keep track of. More than Harry could pleasantly endure.

Liam was silent. Harry was angry. He wasn't sure how they both felt the same thing but showed it two different ways.

When Liam finally pulled away from the concept of his personal space he gave Harry an indecisive look as his hand dropped down to his side.

Harry frowned at him, unsure of an appropriate reaction to such an act of frustration.

But just then, before Harry could contemplate it any further, a loud, harrowing shriek resonated through the walls of the house. 

Liam pulled away from Harry immediately, his eyes dilated as the searched for the source of distress.

"What the hell was that?!" Liam asked, as he quickly stomped out of the kitchen. Every step he took sent a sharp pulse of agony against Harry's skull.

Harry rubbed at the collar burns on his neck as he watched Liam leave. He heard the sound of a bedroom door opening and closing, some familiar voices murmuring. It didn't sound good at all, though. The girls seemed frantic, from what little Harry could hear.

A single ominous cry escaped an stammering pair of lips, and Harry frowned, following the traces of ornery trepidation.

He really wished he hadn't.

Because the air was thick. Harry hadn't notice it before, but. It was static. It was heavy and weighted, almost as thick as humidity although it was the dead of winter.

The darkness had swallowed up their home and Harry wasn't sure why it took him so long to realize the all too familiar undertone beneath the usual aroma of sweat and mold to their hallway bathroom.

Sandra was sobbing into her cupped hand, anxiously pushing past the frame of the hallway bathroom to get away.

Lauren stood in the hallway lost, cradling the baby, while Joe quickly shoved Liza back into the girls' room with a soft curse under her breath.

  
And Liam meandered forlornly into the bathroom, running a anxious hand through his thick brown hair.

Harry winced as he stepped closer to the doorframe, felt as though he knew what had happened before he even peeked in.

He felt his gut twist as his gaze fell upon the image of Ira's cold, lifeless form, floating in the brim filled bathtub.

She had drowned herself in a vat of bath water, plugged the drain and sunk into oblivion.

She was pale. Lips blue. Her head was laid back so that her hair sprawled out beneath the clear water, rippled in the current as her body moved. Ira's eyes were closed, as if she were just asleep. Just resting, for a bit.

And she looked peaceful.

Harry swallowed thickly as he looked away, knew he wouldn't be able to stomach another glimpse at her soulless corpse.

He started to turn around, caught a fruitless glimpse of eye contact with Lauren before he retreated back into the kitchen.

There was no reason for him to be there. He wasn't one of them anymore.

~ ❁ ~

The instant dinner was bland, tasteless. He felt like he was chewing cardboard. Harry sat at the kitchen table, plastic fork between his fingers and he dragged it through the box.

He swallowed, his eyes blinking the disturbing image of her motionless body from his scathed corneas. The image was burned into his mind; would stay with him until his own day came, he knew.

He tried not to think about it, but he knew it was the only thing on any of their minds today.

This morning had been more than he could even fathom. It had come out of nowhere - well, it wasn't surprising, just unexpected. Harry's heart had been racing all day and he needed to find a way to calm down. It wasn't healthy to keep replaying the disturbance over and over in his mind.

Mariana sat on the couch in the living room, comforting Sandra. She was still crying, silent tears spilling from her eyes as the brunette held her close, squeezing her sides. She had been the closest to Ira after all - it only made sense in this cruel world that she was the one to find her body.

The air was cold, unsettling. Eerie subtleties shook the foundations of the house. There was no corner of this purgatory to seek refuge.

Joe fed baby Harrie in the kitchen, the mother caressing the tiny form to her chest. Though Joe wasn't the one to birth Harrietta, she was definitely the most protective over her.

Harry glanced up at the blonde, watched the way her eyes scanned him for any sort of threat as she tilted the bottle of formula back down toward the baby's lips.

She turned her back to him, walked further into the kitchen so he could no longer watch.

Harry sighed as his distraction was revoked.

Hushed voices were everywhere.

"What happened?" A familiar voice asked. A soft, sweet, innocent tone inquired.

Keshia.

"She's... she's gone, baby," Liza's voice gently concluded.

The two young girls were close, from what Harry observed afar. It was interesting to see Liza's tone shift - the way she went from considering Keshia a pal to considering her  _baby_ , a younger, more impressionable being. Soft, malleable dough.

Harry tried his best not to let his eyes linger. He knew they wouldn't exactly appreciate it at an apprehensive time like this.

It wasn't about him. It wasn't about his petty lies or the ties he'd severed. It was about them.  _All_  of them. They had to figure out what this meant - how life would change without her.

 _If_ life would change, without her.

"Shit - she's heavy," an unfamiliar voice commented, and Harry knew what was coming before it came.

He dropped his prying gaze down to the box of rice beneath his chin, let his fork prod through the meal as the three men, one on each end, carried the heavy black bag through the hallway, down the stairs.

"Hey, be careful with that!" Liam said, firmly, almost- possessively.

 _That_. It.

She was nothing but a thing. An object. A possession. Something to be had. Or to be lost.

Harry felt bile rise to the back of his throat as he heard them talk about her. So he tried his very best to tune them out.

The men continued down the stairs, had to slightly turn the bag sideways to fit her through the door. Harry didn't have to watch them to know where her body would go once they got to the driveway outside.

"Fuck," Liam cursed, kicking the front door as soon as it closed. She was safe and sound in the trunk of the car, now. God knows where they'd be taking her.

Harry wasn't hungry, he decided. He pushed the little box away from him, one hand resting against his churning tummy.

Liam's eyes met his as he walked back up the steps.

Harry didn't even react, having forgotten he was even in the doghouse with the pimp.

Apparently Liam had. Or maybe he just didn't care right now. A lot happened within the last few hours.

It was edging on evening now, and Harry wasn't sure if the death of one of their sisters was even enough to stop him from forcing them onto the street.

Harry couldn't even think about that.

Lauren entered the kitchen only a few moments later. She took little Harrie from Joe, told her to go ahead and go get ready.

They argued for a moment, Joe's hot words an attempt to conceal her true terror. They were all on edge yet showed it so differently. Harry listened with his head down as Lauren very gently encouraged her girlfriend to go before she caused anymore trouble. The house was unsteady; precarious. It was wavering on demolition. Lauren- the pacifist herself - didn't seem to have the strength nor the heart to deal with anymore troubled water tonight.

Harry understood. Joe did as well, seeming as she kept her mouth shut the whole time she left the kitchen to go down the hall into the bedroom.

As Lauren hummed to her baby in the kitchen, patting her back as she gurgled and whined, Harry felt something hot settle in his chest.

Something strange.

The whole house was quiet. The girls were comforting themselves and each other all in various ways. Harry sat alone at the table, watching from afar. It were almost as if - something had changed.

But he couldn't quite figure out  _what_.

All Harry knew was that when he looked around him, he no longer felt like he identified with these poor creatures.

He saw Sandra's tear stained cheeks and he frowned, feeling as though he had to do something to fix this mess.

He observed the way Mariana held the girl, the way she tried her best to provide a faux comfort when Harry knew for certain none was to be sought.

Harry bit his bottom lip as he watched the young mother in the kitchen, rocking her baby back and forth, shushing her cries, making promises she couldn't keep -  _lying_  to the poor child who couldn't yet comprehend the words she spoke.

He caught a glimpse of Keshia, felt more guilt in his gut than ever this past week.

He turned his head and saw Niall. He stood in the corner of the room of distraught girls, arms folded, brow furrowed, empty-eyed.

Harry felt somehow... distant.

He didn't feel  _like_  them anymore. He felt like an outsider - a passive bystander to the pain which surrounded him.

But he didn't know why that was.

As Harry sat there, he wondered what he would do. There was a strong force in him telling him -  _pleading_  for him to stand up and do  _something_  for them.

But what? He couldn't do anything. For so long he felt as though he was on the same playing field as the rest of the girls. He felt disconnected from the rest of them now, like a limb had been lost and was no longer a part of the body. Harry no longer felt like he was a part of their tortured family. He felt that maybe his bonds to this house had been broken. Or perhaps, intercepted. Redirected.

Harry was torn from his thoughts when Liam's voice blared out through the walls of the house.

"What are you all sitting around for? Get up!" Liam yelled at the girls in the living room, clapped his hands at them to get their attention.

Mariana tugged Sandra up to her feet. Liza took Keshia by her arm and started leading her back down the hall.

"Look at the fucking time. Come on!" Liam continued, hot breath steaming in his voice.

Harry got up from the table, tossed his trash in the bin before he started on his way to his room.

He was clearly struggling to figure out how to act in retort to the events that took place today. He shivered, stuffed his hands in the side pockets of his jeans before trudging back down to hall.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Harry stopped in his tracks among the flow of girls headed off to the room to get changed and made up.

Mariana glanced at Harry with her arm around Sandra's shoulder, didn't get a long enough opportunity to give him a look of sympathy.

It was no secret how tired Harry was of being fit snugly beneath Liam's heavy winter boot. Harry appreciated any and all of her efforts.

"I was going to get... go get ready," Harry pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his cold hands, gesturing down the hall.

Liam's eyes were red like rubies, lips pressed together in a thin line.

He snapped his fingers at someone behind Harry, but the didn't get to turn around and see who it was. He was a bit distracted by the flames in Liam's eyes.

The man was desperately holding onto a string of power, struggling to wield whatever this was over his only boy. Harry was growing up - was blossoming into a different kind of challenge now, feeling things he wasn't supposed to and thinking thoughts Liam had once tried to beat out of him.

Harry couldn't wallow here and condone this life anymore; was acting out, purposefully disobeying Liam now for some reason and it was very visibly causing the boss much internal strife. Liam had thought he'd broken Harry. And for three extensive years Harry believed so too.

"What did I tell you had to be done by tomorrow?" Liam asked, his voice suggestive. Harry gulped, his mind going directly to the only thing Liam could be referring to.

"Um... you said you needed Keshia to be ready by tomorrow," Harry thoughtlessly said, not a single hint of emotion in his voice.

He could hear the background sound of the girls fumbling around in the bedrooms, prying through closets and pulling open drawers. Harry hadn't been out working them in so long - he felt his stomach coil at the thought of his betrayal.

"And what does that mean - ready to do what, Harry?" Liam asked, stepping closer. Harry winced, blinking quickly before he looked away. He couldn't give Liam the eye contact he wanted while he attempted to humiliate him. Harry wouldn't.

"Ready... ready to work." Harry said, felt he couldn't give Liam any more of an answer when he knew Keshia was just a thin sheet of drywall away from him.

"Work for who?" Liam barked, his voice strong in his insecurity. Harry swallowed, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort. A lot has happened today, alright, and he was still shaken up at bit.

"You," he answered, like it was trivia that Harry had studied all night for this interrogation.

"What did I ask you to do?"

Harry expelled a shaky sigh, carded a hand through his limp curls to try and provide himself with a little bit of comfort.

As time went on these encounters with Liam were getting more and more ridiculous, felt more and more like he was pushing the boundaries. Harry wondered when Liam would just put a knife to his neck to try and coerce him into what was once natural, unguarded submission.

"You asked me to... to make sure she was ready to-"

"Don't just repeat what you just told me you, cunt," Liam snarked bitterly, the hideous sound punching from his deep chest and filling Harry's aural senses.

He shifted on his bare feet, the rough texture of the carpet against his soles the only escape he had against the scene before him.

Harry fidgeted with his sleeves, kept his gaze low so he didn't have to make eye contact with his superior.

Liam grabbed his chin, forced his head up so he didn't have a choice. The feel of those fat, calloused fingers against him made his skin crawl. Harry wished he could be anywhere but here.

"Go. Fuck. Her." Liam gritted, shoving him backwards. Harry's stumbled, but luckily, didn't collapse in front of the man. That wouldn't have helped his case one bit. If he was going to do this he had to stand up and he couldn't back down.

"Do it. Now!" Liam yelled at him, making him wince in disgust. Harry swallowed hard, torn between two parts of himself: the part he knew he had to acquiesce to and the part telling him to get the fuck out of here.

But that portion of himself was still fairly new - was still developing and Harry wasn't sure it was ready for this, wasn't sure if he could handle it. Was he really about to stand up to his pimp - his boss - his rapist - his abuser - kidnapper - persecutor - for the safety and protection of this girl? The same girl who gave him up -

What was most confusing was that Harry had done it before. This wouldn't be the first time Liam invaded his comfort; forced him into something that made him question his identity at night. And so this anomaly was searing him apart from the inside out.

What was so different about this time? Why was he actually considering option number two?

"Go! God, you fucking -  _bitch_ ," Liam breathed in agitation, shoving him again. Harry closed his eyes, recoiled away from Liam's rage. He was at war within himself - was trying to figure out what to say, how to say it but there wasn't really much time for him to compose himself. It was all rapid fire; a drive-by shooting that Harry could in no way gather himself of process what was truly happening.

Liam was out of control. He was so frantic, so desperate for some semblance of control and he was doing all in his power now to regain his reigns over this house. He was questioning his own authority and needed to make sure no one else was either.

"No, Liam," Harry mumbled, his whole body burning with trepidation. He just didn't want Liam to hurt anyone. They had all been through enough tonight.

Liam paused, took a step back very visibly affronted. The older man grew a hard look on his face, a tough glare that made Harry swallow hard. He knew that wasn't the response Liam was looking for.

"Excuse me?" Liam asked, affronted. His face showed he couldn't believe his ears. Had his main bitch, his number one slut, his good girl - just told him ' _no_ '? Had Harry just denied him? Harry bit his bottom lip, knew what was in store for him before it came.

"I said ' _no_ '! I'm not gonna do that fucked up shit. I won't do it," Harry barked, surprising himself with the strong tone of his voice. He blinked as he stood up a bit straighter, felt a little more confident in his own skin now that he actually committed the deed.

Liam smacked him so hard he lost his breath, his whole body swinging into the wall of the hallway. The loud thump of his bones colliding with the drywall pounded through the entire house. Harry took a sharp inhale, his lips falling open as he mentally processed the blow.

"I can't believe you just said that to me," Liam laughed spitefully, as if Harry's freedom was a joke.

He took a moment to gather himself, panted as he went to regain his stance. Liam had really graced him with a thick one right on top of his already wounded eye.

"Well... I did. You can laugh and... hit me if you want but I'm still not doing it," Harry pushed it, getting snappy with the older man. Liam gave him a look and Harry just shrugged, petulantly.

"Whatever that means. I've been reasonable, Harry. 'Have put up with a lot of your shit. But I won't anymore," Liam informed him with a loud sigh.

Before Harry could realise what was happening Liam had grabbed him by his long hair and was practically dragging him down the hall to his bedroom. It was good for that, Harry realized.

"You do what I tell you. Simple. I don't know when or why you decided to forget everything I taught you but, you know what? - It doesn't really matter." Liam reprimanded him with heavy rambles, feigning tranquility; his anger was still prominent.

"I don't really need you. If you don't do it, I will. Or maybe I'll ask Niall. I'm sure he'd be glad to. So. There's something for you to think about." Liam said as he yanked Harry's hair, making him whimper. He was then violently thrown into his bedroom. He lost his bearings, fell to his knees, then the door was being shut in his face.

Harry frowned, confusedly as he rose back up to his feet. He understood when he turned to see Keshia sitting on the end of his bed. He immediately spun back around, kicked at the door in frustration. What felt like a panic attack was coming on, and Harry could hardly take in oxygen.

He used that feeling to fuel his action, tore at the door hinges, balled his hands into a fist and pummelled them against the wood until his bones were throbbing and his muscles were sore. He pulled and twisted the doorknob, but knew his efforts were useless. He could feel it. Liam was probably holding it, gonna stay there until he gave in.

Fine. So be it. He'd be there all night. Harry had made up his mind.

He locked the door from the inside, cursed under his breath as he turned around to find the thirteen year old girl siting there, waiting for him, trembling as the scene unfolded before her eyesight.

He knew he couldn't function well if he let this get to him. He had to do this - and effectively. If his mind was wrapped up in this shit he should be used to by now he wouldn't be able to do anything to help this poor creature.

He just didn't want it to hurt anymore.

That's all.

Keshia was terrified. Her posture showed it. Expressionless, she was curled into herself, shoulders slump, head held low, clammy hands clasped together in her lap. Her unruly curls fell into her eyes and Harry felt the strong urge to touch her, lift her up, exalt her.

She was beautiful and should never feel as though she couldn't exude that.

Harry slowly approached her, could tell she was still very frightened of him. She probably didn't want to experience his wrath of the past events. Or maybe her mind was tangled up in fears for reprisal.

Harry thought it was foolish of her if it were so. He wasn't angry with her. He wasn't mad at all, actually.

He couldn't fit that much into his mind all at once. It hadn't been anyone's fault but his and he took his punishment. Plus, he didn't hold grudges, so.

He felt surprisingly on edge, like the adrenaline of telling Liam off was still pumping through his veins, keeping him powered up for the remainder of the night. He felt great, like three long years of pain and suffering had finally payed off.

"Harry, I -" Keshia started, her voice frail. Harry shushed her, with a finger over his lips. Quietly, but hastily he made his way over to the window on the right side of the room.

He could feel her brown eyes on his back as he played with he locks on the window, his sore fingers aching at the joints where they slipped against the cold metal.

Eventually the rusty locks came undone. Harry breathed out in relief. He pushed the window up swiftly, and the sound of the metal frame hitting the glass made a loud clank. Liam had to have heard that.

The freezing winter air knocked him back, but he knew it was their only escape. The man shrunk into his sweater, his teeth chattering as he turned back to the girl.

"Come on. Up. We have to go," Harry anxiously whispered to her. It wouldn't be long until the brisk breeze made its way into the air current of the house. It wouldn't be long until Liam realized what was going on.

"Go where?" Keshia asked, glancing between him and the open window. Harry knew what she meant. It wasn't like either of them really had a anywhere  _to_  go.

"Out the window," Harry vaguely explained, but it was all he could think of to say at the moment.

~ ❁ ~


	29. t w e n t y - e i g h t

~ ❁ ~ 

"B-but... are we coming back?" Keshia asked, and Harry was so glad she was taking the current situation so seriously. Their lives were literally on the line here.

Harry exhaled, taken aback. He snatched her arm from where it hung limply by her side and heaved her into a standing position.

"Wait, but... what about Lauren? And Liza? Harry, what about-"

"What part of ' _now_ ' don't you understand?" Harry asked exasperatedly as he tugged her toward the outside world.

It was about a ten foot drop. Which wasn't that bad, since Harry was near six foot tall. But to a shorter girl like Keshia, maybe so.

"Oh wow... um, okay," Keshia stammered. Harry glanced between her and the door to his room, frantically. He just hoped they could get down before Liam caught them.

Harry took the plunge first, figured it would be easier for Keshia to jump down if he was there to catch her. Or at least to cushion her fall.

He climbed through the broken frame, over the window pane and dropped down to the concrete below. He felt the collision shoot through his legs up to his hips as he landed. He cursed as his bare feet touched the frozen city sidewalk. What on earth was he thinking?

"Harry... I - I don't know," Keshia stuttered, glanced behind her which led him to believe Liam had caught on and was now trying to enter the room.

"Just come down? See, I'm fine. Please, we just... we have to go." Harry turned to see some of the other girls coming out the front door, taking their places on the street for a night of hard work. Harry felt so many things all at once but right now it was only fear for this scared child above him.

He could hear Liam's loud voice from inside, could only terrify himself with thoughts of his catching Keshia before she got the chance to escape, forcing her down and taking her against her will. Harry felt his heart race at the thought, and that only made him try harder to reach out to the girl, try to get Keshia to trust him because they didn't have much time left. 

"But-"

"No! Keshia, if you don't come now he's going to hurt you. He'll hurt you so bad... You have to listen to me just... please," Harry begged, fear glistening in his emerald eyes. He was once this young, innocent creature standing before him. Confused and uncertain of who to trust; which people were just using him or which genuinely wanted to aide him. It was horrible to have to see it happen again and again for years. He couldn't watch it happen to her. Not when it was in his ability to instigate a change.

He reached his hands up, as he watched Keshia scramble onto the ledge. His heart thumped in the back of his throat as he awaited her weight to fall down into his arms.

The girl lost her grip and tumbled down. Which, okay - Harry hadn't been expecting that. She was also much heavier than he'd been anticipated.

They both fell to the hard ground. Harry took the fall, most of the pressure of the collapse on his aching back and Keshia fell on top of him, air punching from her lungs.

He groaned, struggled to heave himself up because he could see the honking cars and the whooping girls and he had to get them the fuck out of here. This wasn't the life he wanted for her and this certainly wasn't what he wanted for himself.

"Shit!" he heard Liam's familiar voice exclaim from the window frame. Instantly, Harry sprung up. He felt it like a trigger was pulled and a surge of strength was shot through his entire body like a bullet.

Without preamble, he stood, grabbed Keshia's arm and pulled her along. No questions asked. No answers given. They had to go.

The two of them took off running down the street - well, Harry ran and Keshia struggled to keep up. Both her legs put lengthwise together would probably equate to the expanse of one of Harry's and she couldn't match the pace the man had set.

She scuttled beside him, her feet fluttering against the sidewalk where he galloped. Harry could feel her stumbling along the way, and struggled to feel empathy. The only thing on his mind way go _,_ go _, go - we have to go._

Harry realized that their fleeing would have been pointless if she couldn't even keep up about halfway up the block. He knew this would never work if they couldn't even get farther than the street.

"We have to run, _quickly_." He rationalized, pausing for a moment to let the girl breathe. Keshia blinked quickly, tears forming in her eyes from the cold. It had to be in the negatives, Harry thought. The air was empty- grey, dank, bleak. He wondered how they would survive this northern city on a winter's night.

"I can't ... keep up with you," She gasped, her thin brown arms squeezing around her tiny waist. Harry felt that pressure in his chest already - what made him feel like he'd swallowed a block of ice. They wouldn't be able to stay out here long. They wouldn't survive it.

It was fucking arctic out here and Harry really wished he'd brought something for her, at least a pair of socks. Concern mapped his brow as he looked her over. She was only dressed in thin sleep shirt and pajama shorts.

He didn't know what he'd do if the girl caught something nasty, like. Hypothermia. Or the flu. Harry didn't know. He wasn't sure what little girls got sick from. His objective was to keep her safe. There were more ways than one that he could fail.

He thought for a moment, weighed his options. And although his decision would cause him pain, he chose to do it anyway. For her.

"Here." Harry crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on his knees. His body still twinged and his legs were mighty precarious - wobbling at the knees - but he had to do something, and fast or hell would find them.

"Get on my back," he suggested quickly, hoping it would put some hustle into their hasty flight. Or at least convey to her the enormity of the situation. If they didn't cover some ground Liam would eventually catch up to them. He had a car. If he really wanted to recover the two he would in no time.

Harry waited for her to make a move, body shaking impatiently as she stalled. Keshia hesitantly climbed onto his back, slipped her arms around his neck and hooked her tiny legs around his waist.

Harry stood with a grunt, struggling to adjust to her weight. His spine cried out in protest with the pressure, but Harry had to ignore it. He held under her knees, balanced his stance before doing anything else. He hitched her thighs up further on his hips with frozen fingers, then took a few steps forward. He paced himself, knew he'd be out of breath not even a mile up the road if he tried to book it.

"Am I heavy?" Keshia asked softly, her cheek pressed to his thick lifeless curls.

"It's not that... I just- doesn't matter," Harry huffed, before he started moving again.

He made it around the block with her attached to him like that, but his body was running out of steam. Not only the fact that he'd hadn't had anything to eat for nearly twelve hours. Not just the mental state he was in. Not just the inappropriate outfit he was in for this weather. Not just the beating he was still recovering from. Not just the fright of not having any place to retreat to. No, it was a combination of all of those things teeming in Harry's head at once.

But when he thought of the consequences of his weakness, the repercussions of not giving this every last ounce of tenacity he had - what would happen to them, to her if he didn't pull through - something powerful shot up his spine and gave him the durability to power through.

They got out of the neighborhood, had made it to the first red lit intersection when it started to snow. Harry cursed again, thought today was the absolute worst.

"Aren't your feet cold?" Keshia asked as he carried her across the crosswalk. Several people passing by gave the two of them strange looks but Harry kept his gaze focused on his path, knew there wasn't a moment of theirs to waste.

"'Don't feel it anymore," Harry told her as he sighed, warm breath rising into the night sky. It was indeed freezing cold, numbed his slowly cauterizing skin. His unnecessarily long hair was falling into his eyes, sticking there. He could hardly see, was now relying on his one good eye for direction. His knees wobbled with every step, shoulders and lower back aching with the exertion of carrying this girl.

So yeah, Harry was actually, physically feeling the pain of his decision, like that first night he'd spent sleeping on the street corner. But he didn't care this time. This was the right thing to do. Even if they froze to death he would rather meet his end out here than back in the domain of that monster. The thought that if they died inferiors to him that Liam had won - succeeded in taking their lives away from them indefinitely - disgusted Harry. He moved a tad faster when the thought entered his mind.

Keshia nestled her face into the crook of his neck, and Harry wanted to savor the human contact, wanted to be able to concentrate on it to maybe take his mind off of everything, but. Somehow, sadly, he couldn't find much comfort there.

He felt like he was bearing the weight of their entire world on his shoulders.

He glanced up into the cloudy night sky, watched the large flakes of white drift down over them, around them.

Harry wasn't exactly sure where they were going. He knew it wouldn't be smart to try and roam around the city in search of shelter when it seemed that everyone was retreating from the bad weather. Harry wondered if maybe a storm was coming.

He heaved Keshia further up on his back, before advancing along the sidewalk. He had to figure something out eventually. As Mariana had said, if he didn't have a plan Liam would find them, bring them back and make life hell for the two of them. Harry knew it all too well and he wouldn't let that happen to this precious angel.

"Where are we going?" Keshia asked, her voice warm against Harry's frozen skin.

"Somewhere safe," Harry assured her, knew in his heart what that meant to him. He wasn't sure whether it was a good idea or not, to bring Keshia there, but he had no other choice. Literally, there was nowhere else they could go to hide from Liam. There was really only one place Harry felt safe.

~ ❁ ~

He could've let Keshia walk up the stairwell, but he took it anyway, hadn't really remembered she had working legs. He was out of breath by the time he reached the floor.

He let the girl slide from his back only when they got to the apartment door, the gold number plate shimmering in the dim light of the complex hall.

Harry rang the doorbell, then took a step back. He tried his best to feel endeared when Keshia clung to his side, confused as to whose home they were outside of. But all was in vain. He was drained.

"Hello?" Louis answered the door in his pajamas, a mug of, probably tea in his hands. Harry felt the girl try to sew herself to his side, timidly hiding behind him.

She was very shy with new people, Harry recalled. The night of their first meeting she wouldn't even give him direct eye contact for a long time.

"Hey," Harry breathed, could feel the flush from the blistering cold burning his face.

Louis had a puzzled look on his face.

"Hey... I didn't think you'd be back so soon," Louis smiled, taking a step away from the door.

Harry faltered, just stood there in the hallway dumbly for a moment before he realized Louis had invited him in. He couldn't help it. His mind was all over the place.

He was so lucky to have somewhere to escape to. Even regarding the possibility that Louis wasn't constant - Harry was so grateful for everything he continued to do for him for the time being.

"Thanks," he murmured, tugging Keshia alongside him.

"Oh my - you're not wearing shoes," Louis commented, taking in their disheveled appearances.

Harry's hair was a complete mess atop his head, lank strands falling into his eyes whenever he moved. Keshia was shivering in her thin getup, had her arms stuffed in the sleeves of her shirt to ward off some of the chill in her bones.

"And - _goodness_ , you're freezing cold, Harry," Louis soothed his hand against the nape of Harry's neck, feeling his goosebumps. Harry remained silent; hadn't yet found the words to tell Louis what happened.

Louis seemed to realize this. He nodded to himself, visibly relaxing.

"This is Keshia," Harry heard himself say, eyes distant. Louis gave the young girl a small smile, stuck his hand out toward her.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Louis," the older man said. Keshia slowly, hesitantly took his hand and gave it a firm tug. Harry scratched the back of his neck idly, watching the two exchange formalities.

Louis led the two refugees into his living room, pulled apart his folded throw blanket and handed it to the thirteen year old girl.

Louis removed the hoodie from his torso, yanked his arms out of the sleeves and gave it to Harry.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Hot chocolate?" Louis stepped back and asked. He was in a thin longs sleeved sleep shirt now, having given up his own garments for Harry.

He felt bad as he slipped the hoodie over his own arms, but he knew Louis would never have it if he protested. Harry learned that last night.

"Um. May I have hot chocolate please?" Keshia asked from where she sat on the couch beside Harry. She was tugging the blanket over her skinny frame, wrapping her entire body in its thick flocculent embrace.

It might have been a tad strange for Keshia to accept Louis's offer. He entertained his mind with the distraction, contemplating the different reasons she could possibly feel comfortable with it, considering the two had just been acquainted.

Harry understood, though. As a runaway, Harry empathized with the instinct which led her to take whatever was offered without hesitation.

Harry once wandered about the cruel city streets at night with an empty stomach. He'd had to push his pride away in order to survive on multiple occasions before. It only made sense. Keshia didn't have a clue when the next time she'd have the luxury of a hot drink would be.

Harry straightened the hoodie out over his chest, tucked his frozen hands into the front pockets and watched as Louis gave her a short nod.

"I'll put some more hot water on," Louis mumbled to himself as he left the living room. Harry watched from the couch as the man retreated, felt his chest pulsate when he saw how anxious Louis looked. He felt guilty. In a different way.

It wasn't lethal guilt. The kind that made Harry taste bile in the back of his throat. It was the kind of guilt that made Harry feel intrusive - like he was a bad person for driving Louis out of his way like this. And for them.

He was torn between his primal need to provide and to protect Keshia and his waning inclination to soothe his self depreciation - stay out of Louis's life. But this was all Harry had. And he had to share it with her. She came first.

"Who is he?" Keshia whispered to him, shifting under the red blanket. Harry was lost in his own thoughts and had to snap himself out of his trance to address her question.

"Oh. He's Louis," Harry answered dryly, pushing his long hair out of his face. He tried his hardest to relax against the couch. His muscles were still so stiff.

"Is ... is he your boyfriend?" Keshia hissed, her brown eyes big and bright. Harry couldn't help the tiny smile that spread across his face.

"No, he's just... he's a nice guy," Harry said, smirking to himself. His head was slightly damp as a result of the snow that had been flailing down in buckets by the time they'd arrived at Louis's apartment complex.

He carded the long dark waves back with his fingers, starting to feel a bit more comfortable as he thought about things. The familiar comfort of Louis's home was finally seeping into Harry's tight resolve. It always did. Louis made him feel secure.

Harry looked over at the girl. She was glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. Harry gave her a dimple in return, but didn't elaborate any further.

They sat there in the living room in a comfortable silence for awhile. Louis was bustling about in the kitchen. The only sounds in the whole flat were of the kettle whistling on the stove and then the sound of water being poured out. Harry stared at the couch cushion beside where he sat while listening to the clank of the spoon against the mugs.

Chewing his bottom lip, Harry passed the time.

Eventually Louis placed a warm mug of tea into his hands, left a coaster and a napkin onto the coffee table in front of him. Harry glanced up, saw that Keshia already had her beverage and was sipping it happily.

Harry thanked Louis again, but wasn't able to make eye contact with him before the older man was exiting the living space once more.

Louis returned from his bedroom about ten minutes later, cradling a laundry basket in his arms.

"Here," he said, dropping two pairs of bundled up socks over the back of the couch. Harry peeked up just enough to be able to see the pile of balled up sheets in Louis's white laundry basket.

"Oh, thanks," Harry said as he gave one to Keshia.

Louis placed the basket beside the door before turning back around. Harry put the socks on, pulled them up and snugly tucked the hem of his pant legs over his ankles.

"It you want something more comfortable to wear you're free to look through my bottom drawer, Harry," Louis told the man, fingers brushing lightly at the back of his neck. Harry nodded.

"But, I don't think I have any clothes that would fit you, Love." Louis told Keshia. The girl smiled bashfully, told him it was alright.

He rested his hands on the back of the couch. Harry reached down to take his hot drink from the coffee table, brought the slightly sweetened honey infused warmth to his lips and took a sip. Satisfied with its taste he placed it back on the table.

"Are you sure you're warm enough?"

Harry didn't really reply. He craned his tense neck to see the older man running one frantic hand through his hair. It was pointless, Harry felt. He was sick of feeling whatever discomfort was hovering in the air. Louis didn't have to do anything for them. His existence was honestly more than enough.

Delayed, Harry turned around on the couch and made eye contact with Louis the moment he'd already decided.

"... I'm going to turn up the heat," Louis said as he turned to go to do so. Harry sighed.

He placed his bigger hand over Louis's other hand, effectively stopping him.

He looked at Harry, those deep blue eyes drained of their bright hue. Harry offered him the best smile he could muster. He wasn't sure how to convey his thanks to Louis while also telling him to relax. Harry settled for a gentle gaze.

And Harry hoped with the gesture he made his point. He didn't mean to stress Louis out or make him feel obligated to do anything overly hospitable. Harry was glad enough already to have Louis in his life and would in no way scrutinize his efforts.

"Okay," Louis breathed out. Harry was pretty sure he got the message. He felt Louis's hand slip out from under his and tried not to revel too much in its implications. His brain was entirely overworked.

"I put some new sheets on the bed for you, Keshia. So, you can take the bed," Louis offered, another heavy puff expelled from his lungs.

The girl turned to see him, still slurping at her drink. Louis had even put marshmallows in the hot chocolate. At the realization Harry felt a light wave crash over him. Almost like tranquility. Or maybe elation.

He let the weight of the day drift from his mind. Instead he focused on the fact that Keshia was here with him - that she was safe now. Keshia was happy. There was no sadness and no pain here. No harm or angst or misplaced trust. With Louis, the rest of their world seemed so far away. Liam was definitely far away from them and hopefully they'd be able to figure out a plan from here. All was well and Harry needed to calm down.

"Oh, alright. Thanks," Keshia said, then continued to enjoy her chocolate beverage.

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a brief moment and allowed his mind some placidity after such a fucked up twenty-four hours.

When he opened his eyes he glanced up to the clock on Louis's wall. It was nearing ten o'clock now. So yeah. It had indeed been a whole day.

He's left Louis this morning a completely different person, Harry felt. He had carried out the deed. He had fucked up his chances of ever going back home to Liam. He ran away and if he were to ever go back there he would never make it out alive. He took his chance. He finally took it. And successfully, this time.

But Harry couldn't help but think about the other girls; wondered what would happen to them. He knew he couldn't just leave them there, but he was scared. He'd sentenced himself to death by choosing to protect the adolescent girl beside him. He wanted to do something to save them all- to protect them after what had happened.

Harry could very obviously see the psychological damage being done to the prisoners. He had experienced it himself. Louis helped him to talk it out, had given him an open - maybe even a therapeutic - setting in which he could speak freely without fear of judgment or reprisal.

Louis had listened well, and made Harry feel like there wasn't anything wrong with all he'd been through. It was nice. Harry really wanted to believe Louis didn't mind it; was kinda hoping Louis's affection was truly unconditional. He tried his best not to think about that too much, though.

"Wait - are you sure, Lou?" Harry asked, thinking about how awful he'd feel if Louis's had to be inconvenienced; had to give up his bed because of their invasion.

"Yeah, of course," Louis said, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder from where he stood behind the couch.

"Where's Harry gonna sleep?" Keshia asked, curiously.

Louis turned back to Harry, pursed his lips. "I guess on the couch," he suggested, or rather, concluded.

"Is that alright?"

Harry felt the back of the couch dip as Louis's rested his torso there. His hand slipped down to Harry's chest, patting over his sternum through the material of the hoodie. Louis was so warm; his body so comforting to Harry within close proximity.

"Yeah. But... then where will you sleep?" Harry frowned, hoping he didn't just put Louis out of his own home.

"I've got an air mattress I can blow up if need be. Don't worry about me," Louis told him, voice feather light against his temple.

"What?" Harry shifted, turning to get Louis's attention.

"Um - where do I put this?" Keshia broke them from their almost - dispute. Harry was definitely not in favor of putting Louis on the floor tonight. They were the runaways - the dirty street rats who should be on the cot, not him.

"I'll take that, Sweetheart," Louis smiled as he stood up, leaving Harry feeling slightly colder without him.

He took Keshia's mug to the kitchen, placed it into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry sipped on his own hot drink, humming languidly against the soft couch pillows.

After awhile Keshia started to yawn. She asked Harry where the bathroom was and he pointed. With a mumbled 'thanks' she got up and left.

Louis came over to the room again, sat down on the couch beside Harry. The two didn't speak just yet. Harry wasn't sure what he was to say, anyway.

Louis didn't ask him, nor impose on his private thoughts. Harry didn't feel pressured to give an explanation. He sunk back into the couch and stared at the coffee table, working things out.

When Keshia reemerged from the bathroom she said she was tired. Louis stood to make sure she had everything she needed before heading to bed, like the good host he was. Harry smiled at the sight of Louis scrambling around the bedroom. He hadn't yet found the right adjective to describe his feelings toward Louis.

Louis closed his bedroom door as he left, then wandered back into the living room where Harry sat, clutching the half sipped mug of tea in his hands.

Louis placed two pillows and folded the throw blanket over the armrest of the couch.

Harry focused on the carpet beneath him, still processing everything that had happened.

"... you alright?" Louis finally asked, sitting down beside Harry's hunched frame, resting his arm over the back of the couch.

Harry didn't answer immediately. He wasn't sure how to, really. He couldn't actually remember the last time he was truly 'alright'. It seemed he was always lost in a wormhole of his own deleterious daydreams. He was constantly worrying himself over something or depreciating himself. He'd been doing that ever since he was sixteen. So no. Harry wasn't 'alright'. He's never been 'alright'.

"Yeah," Harry lied, instead chose to comply with the underlying message Louis was really trying to convey.

Louis just wanted to know what had happened; wanted to know what called for such drastic measures. What made Harry run to his house in the freezing weather with a thirteen year old girl clinging to his side?

Louis was confused but, decidedly, gave Harry some time to gather his thoughts. Because it must have been obvious that the two of them were traumatized by whatever it was. Honestly, Harry still wasn't quite certain what he was going to say or how he was going to explain to Louis that they were homeless now.

"What's going on?" Louis finally mustered up the courage to ask. Harry could tell by the way his voice wavered around the words. And he also felt bad about that.

"I don't even... I don't know," Harry mumbled, groggily. He found himself huddled against the opposite armrest of the couch - far from Louis. His sniffles filled the silent air after a while, and Louis wordlessly passed him the box of tissues from the coffee table again.

  
"Did... did he hurt you?" Louis asked with stone cold eyes, gulping at the thought. Harry glanced up at Louis for a brief moment; shook his head.

Liam hadn't hurt him really. Harry didn't consider manhandling and the few slaps he received as bodily harm. That was simply part of being Liam's subordinate.

"What about Keshia? Is she alright?" Louis queried, scratching the back of his neck in distress.

"She's okay," Harry breathed. He didn't want Louis to be anguished over them. Though it was nice to feel cared for - Harry couldn't allow himself the luxury quite yet.

"Are you?" Louis asked again. Harry looked at him this time, realized he wasn't going to drink the tea and placed it on the table.

"Like, really. Are you doing okay?" Louis asked, candidly. He's never been one to miss the walls Harry's built up to protect himself. He's always seemed very introspective - knows exactly what he does and can analyze why he does it. Harry always wished he could know why he does the stupid things he does. Maybe then he could prevent doing more stupid things in the future.

"I mean... no. Not really," Harry sighed, crawling back across the couch. Louis smiled ruefully, put his arm over Harry's broad shoulders once he nestled into his side.

Harry pressed his nose into Louis's collarbones through the material of his shirt, inhaling his scent. He smelled slightly like cigarette smoke and a spicy cologne. The cotton of his tee was downy and felt like heaven against Harry's stinging red cheek.

"It's okay. To not be okay," Louis hummed, sending vibrations through Harry's head. Louis was so warm - made him feel a special kind of heat blossom to life in his chest. Even with the herbal tea and the thick hoodie and the fleece socks and the heater on full blast Harry could never feel as warm as when Louis was pressed against him, providing this unique comfort no man has ever given to him.

He felt Louis's arm drape over him, the older man smoothing his palm over Harry's back through the layers of fabric. It reminded Harry of when he was a boy, in junior high - that time he came home crying because the older boys had made fun of him and his mother had sat on his bed, rubbed his back through his pink blouse as he soaked tear stains into his pillow.

And for the first time since Harry was a boy. He really felt like those words were true. He couldn't help who he was. But until his wounds were healed, he had no choice but to accept them.

They sat together for a bit, Harry trying his best to ward off his insecurities and just let his older confidant embrace him like this. There was nothing wrong with it. It made Harry feel better. It helped cloud his mind by making him feel fuzzy inside. He clung to Louis like a child would to its mother. Terrified of the world beyond their safe haven.

"Are you gone for good?" Louis asked a while later, a tinge of hope beneath his words.

But Harry was silent. At first, he was silent. He was ready to say it was over - that he was leaving it all behind. All the horrendous memories of the atrocities done over the course of three harrowing years. Because of course he was ready. That wasn't it.

Harry wasn't sure what it was exactly. Because for as long as he could remember - since the night he first got there and realized he was a prisoner - he'd wanted to escape. So much had happened and Harry felt that leaving that behind was like - leaving a part of _him_ behind. Another portion of Harry's life was going to fade into the background. The past would once again swallow up an entire part of who he _was_. And that was scary. Even if Harry was making the change for the better. Oh how much better life would be.

"Are you here to stay?" Louis then amended. Like, maybe the focus wasn't what he'd escaped - but what was now ahead. Because there would be endless possibilities of what Harry could do once he was free.

Now that he was free.

Oh how much better life _will_ be.

Harry relaxed into the elder man's side, rubbed his cheek against Louis's shoulder. It was all he wanted and more.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, exhaustedly. He then frowned at how that sounded. He didn't want Louis to think he was the only chance of survival the runaways had - like it was his responsibility to make sure they made it out okay. Because that wasn't the case.

"I mean- not here. Like, I can go somewhere else - _we_ can go somewhere else if-"

"Shut up," Louis murmured with finality, his hand moving up Harry's neck. He cupped Harry's jaw, tilted his head up slightly so he could look him in the eye.

And Harry didn't look good at all. He was gross. He was beat up and tired; had the same nasty black eye he'd had for the past couple of days. His hair was a mess; wiry and tangled and sweaty - but Louis brushed it out of his face like petals of a delicate flower; of pure elegance. His lips were chapped from the cold, his nose red and runny; skin blistered. He could already feel a sore throat coming on. But blue eyes trailed down his face, taking in every detail of his expression - every last one of his features like they were to be savored.

Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks under Louis's gaze. After a few moments of fond staring, Louis leaned in. He caught Harry's lips in a soft kiss - slow, gentle; nothing but reassuring. His eyelashes flittered closed on contact, his hand tightening where it rested against Louis's thigh.

Harry breathed out when Louis pulled back. He felt Louis's hand slide down his chest, saw the way his hooded eyes took in his shocked expression.

But Harry was too tired to think about it. So he just nestled back into Louis's side, enveloping himself in the warmth of the older.

Both of them were quiet after that. It was all Harry needed - comfortable silence.

  
"Ira killed herself," he whispered into Louis's chest. It came out of no where, but he couldn't go to sleep tonight without telling someone. No one had even seemed to care but it was real.

"'M," Louis sounded like he had fallen asleep, and Harry had felt his chest moving rhythmically. He felt bad now.

"Sandra found her in the tub this morning," Harry murmured, a shiver traveling through his bones. He huddled closer to Louis as a result.

"I'm sorry, Harry," was Louis's only reply. And that was more than enough for him.

They curled on the couch together that night, the hum of the heating vent the only sound in the apartment beside the steady breathing from the two.

Harry was the last to fall asleep. Some time after Louis. His mind was still crawling with his thoughts. But at the sight of Louis knocked out beside him, his hand resting on his own chest, he felt no need to dwell on the past.

He snuggled up to Louis, took his hand, let his thumb smooth the back of it before resting his head in the crook of Lou's shoulder.

Eventually sleep overcame him.

~ ❁ ~


	30. t w e n t y - n i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i took forever to update. i suck at writing filler. this is just fluff about harry's thoughts post - running away. louis's friend turns out to be in a position to aide them. harry doesn't know how to identify the feelings he has toward louis, blah blah blah. thanks for putting up with my shit. haven't had a chance to edit rly so feel free to comment any mistakes. apologies in advance.

~ ❁ ~

Louis called in to his workplace the following morning, notified them that an emergency came up and he wouldn't be able to make it in.

Harry hadn't meant to inconvenience Louis to such an extent that he would stay home from work because of them. But Louis continued to surprise him with his unwavering devotion.

Harry didn't wake up until ten. He slept on the couch under the blankets, lanky limbs curled close to his body as sunlight peered in through the curtains.

When Harry awoke he felt well rested, rubbed his eye as he glanced over the back of the couch to see Louis fumbling around the kitchen, spatula in hand. 

He watched Louis for a little while, a small smile pulling at his lips. Harry felt himself growing fond of Louis in a way. He felt as though he was beholden to Louis, like if it weren't for him Harry wouldn't have ever been courageous enough to take this chance: the chance on his own freedom.

It was something Harry had never felt before. It was vaguely familiar, like a light whiff of something sweet caught on a street corner, or the sound of a woman calling out into the night. It was a dreamlike feeling, like a dim spark tickling in his tummy, and working its way up to be a bright flame burning his chest. It was a nameless form of undying gratitude, unheard of captivation and outright awe that overwhelmed Harry whenever he glanced at the older man. It was hard enough for Harry to revel in the truth of his newfound liberation, and the last thing he needed was to develop   codependency on Louis. He sighed to himself as he sat on the couch, wiped a distressed palm down his face before deciding to silence anymore of those thoughts.

Eventually, Harry teetered on loose legs into the kitchen, mumbled a greeting to Louis as he tugged the sleeves of the hoodie over his big hands. Louis smiled gently when he saw Harry, with tired eyes and a downy, unstyled fringe. He took a step away from the stovetop where he was cooking enough eggs and bacon for the three of them, slid an arm around Harry's waist and rubbed his back.

Harry simply nodded when Louis asked him if he'd slept alright, but heat rose to his cheeks when Louis leaned in and kissed his temple.

"'Need any help?" Harry asked, tossing a hand through his tangled curls. He was in desperate need of a shower now and was sort of hoping Louis would decline. Not that he didn't want to be of use, just-

"No, that's alright, Love," Louis hummed, hand gliding down Harry's back. The younger almost wished Louis would tell him to work while he was here. He felt so useless when Louis waited on him hand and foot.

"Could ... may I take a shower?" Harry decidedly asked, some part of him felt the need to be more than respectful to Louis. Louis was his angel, after all.

Louis didn't immediately respond. He sniffed, while staring at the sizzling meat in the pan for a moment before he mumbled. "Of course," His mind was somewhere else.

Louis dropped his arm back to his side, and Harry gave the older man a short glance before he turned himself around and left the kitchen. He knew he mustn't let himself get caught up in his emotions. They all had to deal with this in their own way.

Harry walked down the hall, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He flicked on the light and looked at himself in the mirror. It was no surprise that he still looked like a piece of shit. He felt like one too. Harry wondered if the feeling would ever pass.

Harry undressed, hung Louis's hoodie on the hook on the door, pushed down his boxers and pulled his shirt over his head. He reached into the cubicle and turned the faucet on to let the shower water heat up while he washed his face.

He found a basket of unopened toothbrushes under the sink and helped himself. He had scruples now, and he felt slightly guilty, like he should have asked first. But when Harry really thought about it - he knew Louis wouldn't mind.

He gathered a towel from the linen closet and placed it on the sink ledge before climbing into the shower.

The hot water did wonders for his aching muscles. His bones cracked as he stretched upward, and his skin blushed at the warmth. He didn't want to stay in there very long, so once he'd cleaned every inch of his body he cut the water off and pulled back the curtain.

Harry dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He folded his dirty clothes into a pile before leaving the bathroom.

Keshia was still asleep in Louis's room, so he was quick to scavenge the bottom drawer Louis permitted him access to. Harry grabbed some boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants that were too short for his legs. He closed the door behind him and went back to the bathroom to get dressed.

He approached Louis in the kitchen for the second time fully dressed with slightly damp hair. He'd had to roll up the pants to his ankles and had slipped the hoodie back on, having felt a bit chilled by the contact of wet skin and cold air.

"Find everything alright?" Louis asked gently, as Harry rested his folded arms on his island countertop.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry nodded, carding a hand through his hair. It really was in need of a cut and he found that picking with it was a nervous habit.

After running away from his hell of a home, Harry realized that he had to do something in order to rescue his sisters. Even if they were no longer bound by the internal suffering of one another, it wouldn't be right of Harry to take Keshia and leave without doing something to aide them as well. They'd all endured hell - had all been crushed by the weight of their circumstances and Harry couldn't blame them for not finding the strength to stand up against such a devastating force. He'd been there for the greater portion of three years.

But Harry didn't really know what to say. This was _Louis_. He really could say anything he wanted and wouldn't be judged for having an opinion or wanting something certain. He just wasn't sure how to ask. Harry felt like he'd caused enough trouble.

For such a long, long time he'd been in bondage, and he wasn't sure he felt comfortable doing what was right. It was a process and would definitely take some time before Harry felt safe enough in his own skin without constantly glancing over his shoulder in fear of Liam's reprisal.

It would indeed take some time for him to regain his stability, his independence and his free will. He could think for himself and do things for himself; he didn't have to depend on Liam for anything. Life was better this way and all the doubt in Harry's mind utterly faded when he saw Louis standing there, smiling at him like the sun was shining out of his ass.

"What?" Harry asked, bashfully, flicking the curls out of his face the way he did as an awkward teenager.

"Nothing," Louis huffed as he turned the stove off. He served two plates, covered the remainder for whenever the girl arrived to receive it.

Harry watched Louis move around the kitchen, couldn't help but admire the way his toned behind looked when he bent over to collect some silverware out of the dishwasher.

He watched avidly for a moment, felt heat rise to his cheeks, and turned his head away as soon as he realized what he was doing.

"I have a proposal," Louis said as soon as he finished setting the table. He rubbed his palms together, came back around to stand next to Harry.

"Hm?" Harry turned back to Louis.

"I'm skeptical on whether or not to tell you," Louis thought briefly before elaborating. "I realize this has to be a lot to take in but, I don't suggest we wait around to take action. This Liam guy sounds smart. He's got to be, and if we're going to do something about the others - I think we should act quickly."

Harry felt like Louis took the worlds right out of him. "I was literally, just trying to figure out a way to mention that," the younger smiled at how in tune they were. "I just... I don't exactly know what to do,"

Louis chewed his lip as he glanced away. "I might have an idea of where we can start,"

Harry nodded eagerly, desperate to hear anything helpful. He didn't mind taking a risk, considering the death sentence he'd bestowed upon himself not even twelve hours ago.

Louis parted his lips to speak, but before he could get a word in, Keshia had stumbled into the kitchen.

Harry stood up straighter instantly, greeting her with a smile.

"'Morning," he said to her, showing her to the table. And as much as Harry wanted to hear Louis's proposal, he knew they shan't disturb Keshia with talk of it. The last thing she needed was more stress. It was the last thing any of them needed, really.

So Louis and Harry made the unspoken agreement to have a silent breakfast. Harry glanced across the table at Louis as they ate. Keshia kept her eyes on her plate, still sleepy and blissfully ignorant to all taking place. She was the reason Harry did this, anyway. Her safety was most pertinent, and Harry wanted the same for the others as well.

Louis's phone rang a while into the meal, and the elder man stood with a muttered ' _excuse me_ '. Harry watched as he left the kitchen, grabbed his cell from the counter, stepped into his bedroom and shut the door.

Harry sighed, glancing over to where Keshia sat. As much trouble as she had caused him, Harry couldn't bring himself to feel anything but protectiveness, and adoration for the young girl. She was as pulchritudinous as the eve he first met her; with shy brown eyes and puckered lips. She ate quickly, but quietly- unsure of how and when her next meal would come.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, kindly, hoping to ease any anxiety within the adolescent. Keshia was obviously distressed, disguising it as hunger with the way she shoveled forkfuls of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

"Fine," the girl was already habitually saying. Harry shivered at the thought of her learning to suppress her innermost feelings at such a young age. After all, Harry had learned at fifteen - not much older but still. Particularly of adolescence, thirteen and fifteen are very different and a lot can occur, developmentally, between the two.

Louis's words came to mind almost immediately when Harry saw her sitting there beside him, staring at her plate like if she looked away it might get up and walk across the table. Because maybe if someone had told him sooner, he wouldn't have made such rash decisions at such an age. He would have acknowledged his pain, and accepted  the hardships for what they were instead of trying to run from it. Because running from it always meant that one day it would finally catch up to him.

"It's okay if you aren't, you know," Harry said, breaking the silence. Keshia didn't stop eating, kept their eyes averted as if she knew exactly what Harry was trying to do. She focused on keeping her gaze low, chose not to appear vulnerable in Harry's eyes.

"I'm not okay. My head's all over the place. I'm scared, for one," Harry said, sitting back in the chair. He'd only touched half of the food on his plate, though he knew for a fact his body was hungry for much more. And he would eat it, but this unwavering concern for Keshia made his stomach churn like nothing else. She made him feel like a worried mother; frantic and desperate for resolution.

Keshia didn't look up at him for a long time. She was dealing with it her own way; coping in the same unhealthy way Harry himself used to.

"I keep feeling like, it's not over. Like - this is a dream or something and. I feel so sick just... thinking about it," Harry rubbed at his temples, feeling a sinus headache coming on. The cold air had to have affected him.

Keshia swallowed, looked up and caught Harry's gaze. She looked like she recognized the validity in Harry's voice, the way his lilt was broken, yet confident. He was telling the truth obviously, and Harry only hoped he could help her feel comfortable enough to share her thoughts as well. He had nothing but pure intentions and he knew well from experience if Keshia didn't vent now, it would eat away at her until she collapsed.

They sat there for another moment, Harry silently begging her to open up for him. She didn't seem to want to - and well, that's because nobody wants to talk about the ongoing trauma of their experiences. Harry hadn't been able to for years before he met Louis. He never felt that type of connection with any of the other girls, never trusted anyone enough with his secrets. Harry could only hope to bring a fraction of the receptivity to her as Louis did him.

Especially considering the lies he once told her. How could she trust him after what he did? Harry could only hope she would break down her barriers again. There was nothing more he could do.

"He almost had me, you know." She mumbled, pushing her plate away from her. Harry felt his heart jolt in his chest and he glanced up, giving her his full attention.

"'Always have been 'fraid of heights," Keshia explained, wrapping her thin arms around herself. Her eyes were dim, filled with regret.

Harry couldn't imagine the task having been easy for a girl like her. She was innocent - ignorant to the suffering that occurred in the house. Harry was willing to do anything to keep her that way. But he understood that as they scrambled to escape last night, it must have all become real to her.

"I'm sorry, yeah?" Keshia muttered after another heavy beat of silence. She swallowed hard, then made eye contact with him.

Harry felt a the latent pull in his gut as she looked at him. He wasn't sure what she was apologizing for at first, but after they sat there for another incommodious minute, he comprehended what she truly meant.

"Oh," Harry sighed, sitting up a bit straighter in the chair. "It's okay. I'm not angry with you. I never was," he assured the worried girl, hoping to appease the stressed look on her face. Keshia just stared at the table, picking at the corner of the placemat.

Because how could Harry be? He never put trust in her to begin with, so he put himself at risk by assuming she'd keep quiet. And he was being stupid to try and cheat the other girls out of their hard work anyway. The Harry he was now would never do something so selfish. If anything, he's glad Keshia gave him up.

Not only did he discover some things about himself being locked in Liam's bathroom, but he learned a lot about courage - and even gained some. He gained enough to refuse any of Liam's questions. He gained enough to skip work for the benevolence of his health. And he most certainly gained the courage to go back to Louis, even with knowledge of the risk he was putting himself into. He learned more from the pain of the last week than he'd learned the past three years of his life.

So no. Harry wasn't angry with her. He wouldn't trade his epiphany for anything in the world. Throughout this fucked course of events he'd become a different person, and that feeling was novelty.

"Why not?" Keshia asked, pinching her brow. Harry ran a hand over the thin stubble on his chin, making a mental note to shave as he tried to decipher what she was so confused about.

"Because -"

"I snitched on you," Keshia argued, sounding annoyed. It were as if she wanted Harry to be spiteful toward her. Which - Harry understood that too. She didn't get it and was frustrated that even after what she'd done, he'd still chosen to save her last night.

  
"Well, yeah but -"

"You _have_ to be mad at me," she grumbled, petulantly. Harry shook his head insistently. He wasn't going to have this child take the blame for something that went so much deeper. Liam must have already known at least some details or else he wouldn't have been looking for incriminating evidence. Harry hadn't covered his tracks well enough anyway. He'd grown complacent.

"Keshia, no. It's not like that. I was doing something bad. Yeah, I wasn't happy when I got caught, but if I was dumb enough to leave evidence lying around I deserved to. I probably would have got caught anyway, even if you hadn't said anything," Harry said quickly, staring into her eyes with honesty.

"And I lied to you. You were upset at me because of that, which is fine. I can't blame you," He knew Keshia had the right to hate him after he lied to her, and after she found out what he was supposed to do to her body. For that, Harry hated himself too. He didn't want to think about that anymore.

"Let's just call it even and forget about it," Harry finished, offering her a half smile. They'd both been hurt and Harry wanted nothing more than to be able to put this whole thing behind them once and for all. He didn't want to think about it anymore; couldn't afford to let it harbor for him to feel guilty about it three years down the road. He had to know that he did all he could for this girl.

Keshia just looked at him, skeptically, yet accepted his plea. Harry released a heavy exhale in relief- would have to take that for now. He didn't know what else to say. And was almost positive Keshia didn't either.

"Okay," she whispered, and that was the end of it.

Harry quietly ate the rest of his meal, then took both of their plates into the kitchen. He started washing up, simply because he had to feel useful. Especially since they were freeloading off of such a nice, hardworking man. Harry rinsed suds from each plate, dried them with the dish towel before setting them on the counter rack beside the glasses and silverware.

He clasped his hands together when he heard Louis reemerging. The older man walked into the kitchen with a breathy apology falling from his lips. He smiled at Harry, thanked him for washing up.

Harry nodded in return, but he was curious as to what had Louis so engrossed that he missed half of breakfast. (He's actually sort of glad Louis had, because Keshia would never have come out of her shell otherwise.)

As Louis put the remainder of his meal into the microwave for two minutes, Harry stood with his arms folded over his chest, staring at the kitchen tiles.

"My friend is coming over," Louis informed Harry after a moment. The quiet of the house resonated now. Harry wasn't used to such peace on a Friday morning.

Harry looked up, nodding as he processed the information.

"Is that alright?" Louis asked him, as if it were up to him to decide. It wasn't like this was his home, or anything.

Harry shrugged, looked over to where Keshia sat at the kitchen table, picking her nails.

"I think he may be able to help," Louis spoke, his eyes distant. The man seemed solemn, like he was in his thoughts. Which made sense, Harry supposed.

Louis gave him a soft three second look, with a strained brow and pursed lips - like he knew everything, but understood in his heart that he could never really know anything at all.

It had to be tough playing Louis's position; caring so much for empty souls. Harry couldn't imagine having the desire to help, and knowing all to be futile regardless. It was crushing for morale. Only now Harry felt pathetic in Louis's home, waiting out the storm while his sisters endured another day of hell. He couldn't even begin to fathom how that must feel to live that way all the time, knowing those of importance were suffering amidst your comfort.

And Harry wished there was something he could say to Louis to get him to stop thinking so much. Harry knew he'd be okay. He had a feeling they would all be okay, and that this was the beginning of a great success. He needed Louis to rejoice in that much first, before troubling himself with the endless possibilities of a failure.

Harry had to stay strong. This was far from over, but if they really intended to do some good they had to stay level headed. That was key.   
  


~ ❁ ~  
  


But all in all it was a trivial day. After breakfast, Louis turned the television on for Keshia to look at while he took Harry to the bathroom to examine his wounds.

It was sweet of him, to care so much. Harry didn't give him any trouble about it. They were healing fast, anyway. The hopeful aura was working wonders for Harry's demeanor, and he didn't mind the pain as much as when he was deep in the depths of cynical pessimism. It was more of a dull ache now that he was used to feeling it.

So Louis anointed the deeper lacerations in his back - the ones strained from exertion in the hasty escape the night prior. Keshia wasn't as small as she looked, and carrying her across the city wasn't the best thing for his healing process. It was what Harry got for caring so much. But honestly, he didn't mind one bit.

Harry was good for Louis, didn't flinch or jitter. Louis completed the task precisely, used cotton balls to dab at each cut. Harry no longer bled; his skin was well into scabbing over from the reflection he saw in the sink mirror. Some of them had torn open, though, and Harry did wince when he felt Louis soothing them.

Once Louis had patched him up and handed him the shirt once more, he collected his first aide kit and placed it back under the sink. Harry sat on the closed toilet lid, squeezing his knees as he watched Louis.

Louis's eyes were tired, but he had a smile on his face. He seemed fine, glad to be able to help. As far as Harry could tell, anyway. Harry hoped Louis wasn't feeling distressed about any of this. He couldn't shake the feeling of rue that came with that.

Louis turned to him once he finished. Harry blinked away slowly, hadn't wanted Louis to think he was staring at him. He picked a loose hem on his (Louis's) shirt to avoid the older man's concern. Unfortunately, Louis knew him too well.

Louis lifted his hand up, threaded his fingers through Harry's curls, still damp from his morning shower. His hand was motionless for a moment; just feeling, absorbing the warmth of his skin, the silkiness of his hair -

Harry hesitantly glanced up to Louis, felt shy whenever Louis showed him tenderness. It was still so foreign. Harry wondered if that would ever change.

Louis then carded his hand through the thin strands, stroking it back out of his face. He thumbed at Harry's temple, mindful of his swollen eye. The swelling had gone down significantly over the course of the past forty-eight hours. It was only a bit purple around the edges, but that didn't mean it was any less gross.

Harry cringed at the thought. He'd been a right mess for a week now - hadn't cared enough to clean himself up nor put effort into the make up he wore. Maybe he should. He owed it to Louis to not look like an inmate.

"Okay?" Louis asked, just to be sure. His voice was music to Harry's ears.

"Yeah, sure," Harry responded, feeling put on the spot. Louis made him feel anxious, like he was being evaluated. Assessed. Tested. He didn't feel judged, per say, just - almost as if Louis were taking note of his wellbeing. Harry wanted to say he didn't like it, but.

Louis nodded shortly, before his hands returned down to his sides. He swayed on his heels for a minute, rolling his shoulders, then his neck. Harry frowned. He hoped Louis hadn't had an awful rest because of them. Shit. Another prime example of how Harry the hooker was putting the charming prince out of his fucking way. Harry almost wished Louis would tell him to fuck off. Or at least to admit his discomfort. Or that he wanted his bed back. They shared the couch last night and Harry would've been content taking the floor. Rather the lush carpeted floors in Louis's home than his squeaky sex marred bed back at Liam's house.

But Louis just stuffed his hands into his pockets, then turned around nudged open the bathroom door with a socked foot. 

Harry bit his lip as he watched Louis leave, his side profile as he walked toward the living area.

And Harry wasn't sure what was happening to him - why he was letting Louis fix him. He wasn't sure why he cared so much about Louis's wellbeing. Nor why he was endeared by Louis's concerns. He cared about Louis too, but like. Harry didn't know. All he knew was that it wouldn't be smart to continue, nor to get attached to Louis considering the odds. Harry was a grown man and ought to be able to look after himself.

He was growing dependent on Louis - he was starting to need him. Like an addiction, he couldn't last long without having Louis near. Harry knew he had to be careful. He was keen on the danger, but ignored the feeling in the bottom of his stomach anyway. Maybe Harry would always be stupid.

He was not Louis's boyfriend. He wasn't even Louis's friend. They weren't anything more than acquaintances - if that. And that was something Harry had to be sure of. He didn't need any more complications in his fucked up life. He needed to start thinking about things as they truly were before he made any more grave mistakes. 

Harry sighed as he stood, left the bathroom to join the other two in the living room. 

~ ❁ ~

Eventually Louis left them to do some work in his bedroom. When he returned, he was dressed and had his keys in hand, and was ready to pick up take away from around the block.

The day was quiet, dolorous. It seemed that all three of them were struggling to gather all that had happened, and how to deal with it. When Louis left, the flat only grew quieter. Harry stayed in his corner of the couch while Keshia in hers, nibbling at her fingernails as she watched cartoons.  

Harry caught a few winks himself, and by the time he parted his eyelids Louis was unlocking the flat front door and letting himself in.

There was a man about Louis's height trailing behind him through the door. The two were bantering airily, teasing one another with smiles stretching wide across lips. Louis's smile lines were certainly something to behold. But that wasn't the reason Harry couldn't keep his eyes away.

The man wasn't anything like what Harry had pictured when Louis mentioned his friend. This man was dressed in a dark uniform button up and black slacks with a gun holstered on his belt beside a shiny set of silver handcuffs. Harry felt his heart spike in his chest as he realized his occupation - along with the fact that this man hunted down low lives like him for a living each day.

He quickly stood from the couch. Keshia got up as well when she heard Louis's voice, knowing he'd brought food with him.

"Thank God. I'm starving," the girl murmured to herself. Harry swallowed, nerves set off.

It wasn't like he didn't know prostitution was illegal. He'd never thought of it as a crime such as killing a man, or robbing a bank. But it was dirty work. Since he was sixteen Harry had been taking advantage of the poor public, selling his body for hundreds more than what it was worth. He'd probably serviced some off duty cops since then.

Harry felt his chest pulsate at the thought of the officer pushing him against the door and yanking his hands behind his back, cuffing him to take him down town to be incarcerated. Harry hadn't done time before, but he was certain he wouldn't last one night. They'd tear him to shreds.

"Oh, Harry," Louis started, as he placed the brown bag of takeout on the island counter in his kitchen.

Harry placed his hand on Keshia's elbow, instinctively tugging her closer to his chest.

"This is Stan, my—"

"That's Officer Lucas to you," Stan corrected, with a stern voice, very obviously giving him shit. The man laughed just after, releasing some of the tension in the room.

Keshia looked to Harry with confusion in her eyes. She frowned but stayed beside him anyway. She trusted him, Harry realized, and if he didn't think something or someone was safe, she would acquiesce. It was nice to know he gained that back, but he couldn't allow himself the pleasure.

"Shut up," Louis snapped, frivolously. He chuckled as he started to unload the bag, putting the food on the counter while Stan shook his coat down his shoulders. He draped it over the back of the couch as if this were his home. Harry wondered just how close the two men were.

"Stan, this is Harry," Louis flashed a quick smile in his direction. Harry didn't return it. He eyed Stan warily, as if he could pounce on him at any moment. He wasn't scared, just... unsure.

Harry didn't know this man at all, and couldn't even make a call as to whether or not he was safe. The fact that Louis seemed to know him well was something to consider.

Stan started walking back toward the kitchen, was paying no mind to Harry and his internal conflict. Keshia gave Harry a look, like she was begging him with those deep brown eyes to let her go. And Harry had no choice but to release his hold. He muttered an apology after a long moment. But he didn't explain himself.

Keshia just walked hesitantly over to the kitchen, glancing behind her once before pressing on.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if the officer knew. He watched from afar as Louis bickered with Stan, observed how the elation glistened in those pretty blue eyes each time he laughed. Because Louis trusted him. Maybe Louis trusted Stan with this part of his life too. And honestly, that scared Harry quite a lot.

"And this is Keshia. They're staying here for a little while," Louis introduced her, patted her shoulder before handing her a box of rice. She helpfully took it over to the table.

"Since when?" Stan asked, sounding curious. Harry listened closely as he made his way across the room. The two men made busy in the kitchen, Stan collecting silverware while Louis unloaded the rest of their meal.

Harry joined Keshia at the table standing behind the chair at one head of the table. Keshia sat down casually beside him, unaffected.

"Just since yesterday," Louis hummed. He took out several plates and set the table while both of his guests sat in silence.

Okay, so maybe Louis hadn't told.

Stan sat beside Louis and they chatted aimlessly whilst they ate. Harry didn't have much. He wasn't really in the mood to stuff his face anymore. Keshia however, thought otherwise. She held nothing back, as expected, and ate three spring rolls, half a box of rice and twelve pieces of orange chicken. Harry picked at his lo mein, twisted it around his fork as his tummy turned. He glanced hesitantly at Stan throughout the meal, hoping to God he didn't know.

But at the same time, he sort of wanted Stan to help. Like Louis had suggested, maybe he would be able to, considering. He seemed like a nice person. And he was close to Louis. And for some reason, Harry had grown to trust Louis. So maybe...

Harry was just so tired of not knowing who was safe and who wasn't. The obscurity was killing him, like his life was an unsolved equation with all these x's and y's everywhere. But it was dangerous. This was dangerous. For a person like him to be thrown into a group of unknowns. He'd experienced enough of that to last a lifetime and no longer felt a rush of adrenaline from uncertainty. He needed some sort of consistency, these days. And Louis was the only person from which he ever really received it.

As Keshia stuffed her face, and two friends chortled, Harry hosted an internal debate.

All too soon the day had come to an end. Harry had spent the majority of it in his thoughts, he realized. And that was okay; that was normal. But Harry didn't really know anything about 'normal', he supposed.

Keshia had slinked off to bed about thirty minutes ago and Louis was standing in the kitchen, rinsing plates and loading glasses into the dishwasher. Once more, Harry idly sat on Louis's couch, listening to the click of Officer Lucas's keyboard as he tapped at his phone screen. He fruitlessly wondered briefly whom he was texting. He'd been at it for the past ten minutes.

Harry stared at the black flat screen as he waited; he'd been impatiently waiting around all day for _something_. Louis made the proposal this morning and Harry's as practically dying to get it up and running. He was dying for anything at all. If it could potentially save the others Harry was one hundred and ten percent game. It had been eating away at him constantly for the last twelve hours and he couldn't take much more of the silence.

Harry had a couple of ideas himself, but he worried for the safety of everyone involved. He alone could never ensure something of such importance. He was just one man.

Plus, Harry did not want his own demons to come back and make him seem like a culprit. Liam was the enemy here. Who knew what the police officer in the room would resort to once he discovered the truth.

The law wasn't something to be tampered with. Harry feared he would be thrown into prison right alongside goons like Liam simply because of his past. Harry wasn't good. He was a bad boy and he'd done so many incriminating things over the years - had broken so many rules. Stan had a duty to the state and would probably have to execute it regardless of who Harry was now. The truth was the truth and could be held against him.

"Come on," Harry was torn from his thoughts when he heard the sweet sound of Louis's gentle voice resonating against the walls about him. The two men spoke quietly for a minute or two, and Harry was feeling too anxious to eavesdrop. Whatever happened would happen.

Both men walked into the living room after that. Louis took a seat on the couch beside Harry while Stan dragged a chair from the kitchen table to settle in. Harry watched Officer Lucas as he took a seat. He was much less scary since he had taken off his belt and laid his Glock 22 on the counter. He was no more of a threat than any other man. Harry tried to appease his mind with the thought, but only time would tell.

"So Harry..." Stan breathed, cracking his fingers out in front of him before clasping them together. Harry swallowed thickly, his mind immediately darting to all kinds of absurdities and panicked musings.

He was too young to go to prison. He was too soft, too pretty. Harry couldn't take anymore rape in his lifetime, and he was sure to experience it if he were to be convicted of his crimes.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Harry turned it to Louis for reassurance in this petrified state of mind, and sure enough he was met with the persona of serenity. Louis sank into the cushions next to him, pulled a throw pillow into his lap as he anticipated Harry's response. He had a gentle look on his face, a glisten in his eye that could match no other. His demeanor was relaxed, and by doing so he was telling Harry that there was no reason for him to be afraid. There was no threat here.

But Harry wasn't sure if he could trust this stranger or not. The possibility of the worst occurring was more than enough to scare him senseless.

But truth be told, he didn't have a choice anymore.

If Harry didn't put his faith in Louis, nothing would get better. Nothing would've ever gotten better, and he would still be in the hands of the beast. Louis was his light — and it was about time Harry learned to trust him.

So with a heavy heart and a furrowed brow, Harry parted his lips and spoke.  
  


~ ❁ ~


	31. t h i r t y

  
~ ❁ ~

"I didn't know your best friend was a cop," Harry noted as he combed his fingers through his tangled web of hair.

The sun had long gone; it had been about twenty-four hours since he'd showed up here with Keshia. He sat in the center of Louis's bare mattress, which was stripped free of its satin sheets. Harry missed the way the soft material felt gliding across his skin. It felt like home to him in these troubled times.

He watched as Louis dug through his closet in search of something decent to wear. He'd been scrounging around for at least the past ten minutes. He was taking Harry and Keshia into the police station for official questioning and had said he wanted to look 'presentable'. Harry already thought he looked alright.

"Yeah, he knows the detective pretty well. Morris? I think that's her name. He talks about her all the time," Louis said as he slid a clean shirt over his head.

In reality, he knew Louis didn't have to tell him anything about his life. He hadn't said much since the night of their date and Harry felt a fog of sadness envelope him when he thought of all the time they'd spent together since then. Louis hadn't mentioned much about his personal life because it was constantly all about Harry.

He kicked a pair of sneakers out of the closet, then glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Aren't you gonna get ready? We're leaving in ten minutes," he asked as he checked his lock screen.

Harry sighed with gusto, tossed himself back against the cold, unfriendly mattress. He ran his fingers along the ripples, his eyelids flickering shut as his muscles relaxed sank into its cushion. He and Louis had shared so many passionate nights on this bed, and the thought of that only made him feel worse. "Can't I just go like this?" Harry shrugged, petulantly.

 _Or not at all_ , he considered to himself.

If he was honest, Harry didn't feel like talking about it anymore with anyone else. He simply wasn't in the mood. It took him enough strength to explain the entire situation (in more detail than he'd wanted) to a strange police officer who claimed to have his best interest in mind. If it hadn't been for Louis and his calming presence, Harry definitely wouldn't have even considered parting his lips for the cause. The assurance that came from Louis's gentle eyes, his sweet smile, and soft tone - completely did Harry over. He knew this was a compromising situation, but that he had to speak up, for this was his chance - the first step toward fixing a world of pandemonium.

"I guess... thought you might want to freshen up - well you don't have to. It'll probably be late by the time we get back anyway," Louis thought aloud as he checked his pockets for his wallet and keys.

Harry sighed as he rolled onto his side. Once again, he was bundled up in Louis's comfort clothes; had been for the whole day. He was tired, and irritable. He was still a little rattled about pouring his heart out to Officer Lucas. He couldn't fall into a restful sleep last night because his mind was spinning with thoughts - of his past, dread of the future, coming up with all kinds of improbable possibilities that scared him half to death. He was in desperate need of peace.

"I really don't feel like going," Harry grumbled, looking up as Louis began walking around the bed frame. The older man smiled gently, reached his hand out to cradle Harry's jaw. His fingers were warm, steady. Harry could easily get lost in the tenderness of his touch, could effortlessly distract himself with the beauty of tranquility.

"It's won't be long. They just want an official report of what Liam has done so they can open the case. You don't have to give details if you're not comfortable," Louis spoke gently, as if Harry were a child in need to reassurance. And honestly, Harry felt like one. He felt weak and worn out, fragile, beat down. He needed someone to stroke his cheek and whisper to him that everything would be all right. It was one of the innumerable reasons Harry adored this man above him.

Louis smoothed his hand down, calloused fingertips dusting feather-lightly against his collarbones.

"No, it's but it's - it's hard. It's always been hard to talk about these things. I don't know," Harry shrugged, pulling his knees up toward the ceiling, the soles of his feet flat against the mattress.

"I get it. You've had it rough, yeah? But we can't give up now. Not when we're so close," Louis slipped him a careful smile, rubbing at his skin.

Harry swallowed as he searched Louis's eyes for any hint of doubt or uncertainty, but there was none to be sought. Louis wasn't kidding. He genuinely believed they could fight this thing, that they could beat Liam and prevail. It was alluring, the amount of hope the man possessed. Harry knew Louis's strength and bravery was impacting him in great ways.

"Come on. Let's get up," Louis patted his thigh. Harry helplessly glanced up to those blue eyes, pouting and outstretching his hands.

Louis chuckled as he reached for Harry's hands, helping him sit up straight. Harry bit his lip around a grin as Louis ruffled his hair. It was now even more tangled, but Harry didn't mind. Louis's sentiments were always welcome. They made him feel tingly and giddy inside, like sipping a warm brew first thing on a chilly Sunday morning. And Harry couldn't deny the fact that he always wanted to feel this way.  
  


"Ready to go?" Louis asked the thirteen year old girl who sat on the couch in his living room, her eyes glowing with images of the television.

"Yeah. Sure," She nodded lazily as she started to stand. Keshia was tired too, her limbs heavy and her words slightly slurred. They'd been moping around Louis's flat for two days now, coming to terms with everything and trying to figure out what step to take next.

Well underway of a physical healing, Harry could now go about his day without thinking of his bruises. It still didn't feel pleasant when he reached too far or tugged on something sore. But Louis had been taking good care of him these past few days. Harry couldn't deny he was enjoying all the love and attention and although the voice in the back of his head heeded against such, Harry hadn't an ounce of strength left to overthink.

He shuffled out of Louis's bedroom and into the kitchen. There was still a pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove from dinner, as well as a few crumbs and a stray piece of lettuce on the counter from their sandwiches. Harry swiped them into his palm, then dusted his hands of above the sink.

"Get your shoes on, girl," Louis urged as Keshia padded over to the front door. Louis had been beyond generous the past few days. He was constantly assuring Harry that he wasn't being put out of his way by their company, that he was used to such a quiet, empty flat without them. This morning he'd thanked them for making his day a little brighter, and Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss that idiotic smile off his face.

He'd gone to the store on the way home from work today, picked out a few some clothes for them to wear so they wouldn't have to go out into the night without any protection against this horrible winter weather. In the north it was especially bad this time of year in terms of blizzards, heavy rain showers, and even hail on the rare occasion.

Harry was more than indebted to Louis's kindness. He'd thought of every detail Harry himself was far too stressed to even consider - that a thirteen year old five foot tall girl couldn't fit the leftovers Louis had laying around his home. Harry couldn't even properly fit most of those. They were in a pretty odd situation, but Louis had pulled through for them.

"You too, Harry. We don't want to be late," he sounded like a worried mother, fretting over her children on the first day of school. Louis ran a hand through his tousled fringe - a nervous habit of his.

"Everyone ready?" Louis ran his knuckles along the small of Harry's back. He twisted his hands together in the pocket of Louis's hoodie at the sweet sensation.

Keshia nodded at the man. Louis opened the front door and let Keshia go first. She waited for Harry, who followed closely behind. His shoulders hunched at the sudden hallway draft. He really hated the cold.

"It's freezing," he sniffled, as Louis locked his flat door behind them.

"It's suppose to drop into the teens tomorrow night," Louis informed him. Harry groaned in anguish and Keshia let out a breathy giggle. She reached her hand out to him.

Harry's heart swelled as he looked down at their conjoined fingers. He was touched, though he didn't feel like he deserved her trust, or that he was worthy of anyone's trust anymore. He'd let a lot of people down in his lifetime. He still feels that gut wrenching guilt every now and then.

But it was so much simpler than that. Keshia had put it behind her, she'd forgiven him. Harry had forgotten what it was like to have an innocent mind, to be as pure and as white as snow. As a child, this was easy for her to do; to let it go.

That was foreign to Harry; to forget how upset she'd been. But there was no more threat. No more hurt. No pain. No reason to play defense. Harry was relieved about that, and hoped he could one day have that kind of peace.

Harry held her hand as they walked down the corridor to the elevators. Louis pressed the buttons and took them down to the parking garage.

Louis turned the knobs and heat flooded the inside of his car. Harry glanced at Keshia in the mirror as she stared out the windows from the backseat, made sure she was comfortable as they embarked on the journey.

~ ❁ ~  
  


Officer Lucas greeted them at the entrance. He patted Louis on the back, shook Harry's hand and then Keshia's.

"Detective Morris should be out soon. She had some paperwork to deal with," Stan explained. He looked far more intimidating with the gun attached to his hip, but Harry knew he was nothing but a sweetheart, with those big brown eyes, dark locks, pursed pink lips.

"How long do you think this will take?" Louis asked, concerned. This city had a lot of crime reports, mostly dealing with trivial cases such as theft or drugs. Harry knew there were probably a lot of people in need of the PPD.

"Shouldn't be too long. It's been a pretty slow night. We should have you set in about an hour,"

"How much can really be done for our case?" Harry cut the pleasantries and asked. It had been burning him from the inside out all day. He had to be sure they were doing the right thing by coming here. For so long to him, cops were the enemy. They were no good and only wanted to take from those struggling to earn their keep.

"Well, usually... prostitution is hard to deal with. It's not a high risk crime. If we were to pick up every citizen of the red light district for doing so, they would spend, what, twenty four hours in jail at most. We can't really prove that they were hooking unless we run tests. And why would we spend the money running tests on prostitutes just to prove them guilty. They would be convicted and sentenced to a maximum of thirty days of a first offense. It just doesn't make sense to charge misdemeanors when there's real crime to be fighting," Stan reasoned to the three, wincing a little as the words left him. It wasn't much for Harry to be thankful for, and suddenly it became hard to breathe as the realization hit him.

"So there's nothing -" Harry started, his eyes growing wide with anguish. Louis reached out, gave his hand a gentle squeeze to calm him.

"No, no. In most cases of prostitution, it's a personal choice the convicts make. Many prostitutes are picked up for drugs and other felonies as well. The lifestyles are something we cannot control. But what we're dealing with here is high charges of abduction, underage prostitution, essentially, exploitation in the form of sexual slavery. From what I understand, you didn't have a choice. The decision was made for you," Stan patiently explained, offering a wistful smile to the victim in front of him.

Harry swallowed hard, registering everything that had been said. He nodded sadly, because he knew Liam was in for it - the question that now remained was if he was willing to tell the whole truth for the sake of justice.

The feat it was, revealing the manipulation he'd suffered alongside the other six. But Harry wasn't sure if he was ready for all those years and all those nights and all those heavy emotions to come to a tee. Was Harry really willing to face his demons head on, this time - without a route of escape?

Before Harry could come to terms with the situation, the clack of short heels against linoleum brought him back to his surroundings.

"Detective Morris," the woman breathed as she approached him, outstretching one hand while the other secured a manila folder to her chest.

"You must be Harry," she looked him in the eye, gave his hand a firm tug. Harry nodded distantly. He felt Louis's hand on the small of his back, a ghost of reassurance seeping into his resolve. It was just what he needed to clear his mind, aggregate his thoughts. He had one chance at this; one chance to explain himself and get the detective to understand and to help him. It was up to him now; after three years he was the only one brave enough to stand up.

The pressure weighing on his shoulders made his breath ragged, shaky as he followed Ms. Morris down the cold hallway past offices and phone lines, fax machines and missing persons fliers. Harry could hear buzzing in his ears as the door opened, and he was presented with a small table, two plastic chairs. It was an interrogation room, he realized and the trepidation seeped into his bone marrow. The air felt too thick, too suffocating all of a sudden and Harry wished he had just a little more time.

"Ready?" Detective Morris asked gently, a friendly non-threatening smile creeping up her lips. Harry knew she could see the tension in his body, could read the tremble of his lower lip as he inhaled, then exhaled. She had to see how difficult this was for him.

"No," he answered honestly. He clasped his hands together on top of the table, then dropped them to his lap, wiping them on his pants. Harry couldn't recollect the last time he was this nervous.

He couldn't process the essence of the room, the thin walls that were narrowing in on him with every hesitant breath he took. There was no where to run this time - no where to hide. The torturous, beady gaze of his inquirer seemed open, seemed willing, but Harry knew this stranger had no idea what she was in for.

"Take a deep breath. Think of all the reasons you're here, Harry. Think about what's really important," she advised, folding her hands against her lips, resting her elbows on the tabletop.

And Harry had to do it for the girls. He had to help them after what they'd all put up with. He couldn't let them down just because he was feeling worn out. He owed it to them, after all the mess he'd caused. He only hoped he wouldn't clam up in the heat of the moment; prayed to the only divine force he knew that he wouldn't misuse this opportunity.

So Harry obeyed, tried to clear his mind completely. He took a deep breath and nodded, figuring there was no going back now.

"I ran away when I was sixteen. I was eighteen when I met Liam. At first I thought he wanted to help me 'cause he was gonna to let me stay at his place and, yeah ... but after a day or two he showed his true colors. 'Told me in order to stay I had to earn my keep. And you know, I was used to hustling so I wasn't, like opposed to it. I started back when I was sixteen - during my first few months on the street.

"Liam got me clients at the beginning... made sure I had what I needed to service them. He looked out for me and I trusted him. But see... the catch was—Liam wanted me to work right, work all night sucking and fucking—but he wouldn't let me keep a single penny. And like," Harry sighed, running his hand down his face. He was already getting emotional about it - which was the one thing he told himself he wouldn't do. Detective Morris had a box of tissues at the ready.

"He makes me so angry. It wasn't fair for him to take my money- for him to take all of our money. Every night. It was all we had. That first time I was so pissed and I - I started throwing these tantrums. I'd be screaming and fighting him just to get his attention - to get him to, you know, listen. He never did, of course but. At the time it made me feel better." Harry chuckled dryly, reaching out as she offered the box of tissues to him. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and blew his nose as quietly as possible. Ms. Morris slid the trash bin over to him, then returned to her seat and resuming her notes.

After a minute Harry took a deep breath and shook his head to reorganize his thoughts.

"Um... so after a while Liam got sick of me acting up and he started fighting back. He's always been buff but ... I mean, I was just a scrawny kid. For some reason I didn't realize that," he shrugged.

"He would beat on me so bad I couldn't walk - hell, I could hardly move. He'd force me down and... have his way with me. I'd try to run but he'd always catch me, drag me back to that place no matter how hard I fought to get away. He always overpowered me. He switched the locks on the ensuite bathroom in his room, so he could lock it from the outside. Yeah. He'd put me in there, some times for days without giving me anything to eat. It was all so he could break me. Like I was an animal, I guess," Harry shivered as he exhaled, as it took every last ounce of him to admit it. It's really has been a long time coming.

"And I think that was the worst part. Liam - he's smart. He's a genius, as far as I know. He knows the human mind, knows how to manipulate it. He knows how far a person can bend before they snap. And it's twisted, the way he used us; pushed us to the brink then pulled us back every time,"

Detective Morris stopped him there with a wistful smile. She quickly added something to her notes, the scrape of the ballpoint the only noise resonating against the soundproof walls. After a moment she glanced up, clicking her pen. "How many are currently living in the house on Planter's Road?"

Harry swallowed thickly. Hearing her say those words only made this more real - like, she knew exactly where these crimes were taking place. Had they been watching? Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. Happy? Sad? Anxious? Relieved? He didn't know.

"There were seven of us: Lauren, she's not yet turned sixteen - she got pregnant by a punter earlier this year. Her daughter, Harrietta lives there with her. Her lover, Joanna helps her care for the baby. Mariana and Liza are also runaways. Liza is eighteen but she's more immature. She made good friends with Keshia, the girl who came with us tonight. Keshia is thirteen. Liam took her up off the street a month or so ago. He was going to sell her virginity sometime this weekend. I got us out before anyone could get their hands on her. She was a foster child, like Lauren. I never asked her why she ran from her foster parents, though," Harry scratched blunt nails against the back of his hand as he watched as the detective scribbled onto her papers.

"Uh, Sandra I never knew much about. She was closest to Ira, who um, killed herself two days ago. I don't even know what Liam did with her body. For all I know, it could be at the bottom of the Delaware River by now,"

"She committed suicide?" Detective Morris intercepted his thoughts, frowning as if she had misheard.

"Yeah," he confirmed, his eyes roaming distractedly.

"Do you know her last name?"

Harry sniffled. "I don't... no," he weakly shook his head. He'd known her for long enough to have at least asked. Guilt pooled in his stomach. Now they'd probably never find out what happened to her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure that would've helped..."

"It's alright. It's just... for the past couple of years we've found a couple of unidentifiable bodies around the bank of the river. They're - in bad shape. It's more or less to dispose of the body than it is to destroy any leads we may have. Someone would only mutilate them if they didn't want the bodies to be identified," she explained, calming his nerves. Harry winced in discomfort, rubbing the back of his neck as her words sank in.

"Many of them have been matched to missing persons reports. Would you mind giving me a brief description of Ira?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "She had brown hair - like, light brown. Her skin was light, but she wasn't white I don't think ... mixed somehow. She had brown eyes and kind of a sharp jaw. She wore an anklet - it was silver. I remember seeing it a couple times,"

Harry wished he had more to offer, but in his current state it was all he had. He apologized once more for not having all the details. He was almost positive some of the other girls would be of some help when I came to these types of things.

"If you asked Lauren, she'd probably know. She's got a good memory," Harry explained.

"We do intend to get statements from all of the girls once we get them out," Ms. Morris spoke curtly.

Harry nodded, as he tossed the last of his tissues into the can beside him.

"Could you tell me a little about how he treated you?"

Harry swallowed, clenching his hands against the cool table surface. It was always hard for him to contemplate the way Liam treated them. It wasn't enough to just call it 'abuse'. It was too compelling, too overwhelming and far too altering to be labeled as one thing or another. It truly depended on the person and their perspective. Some of the girls saw Liam as their savior, their god. Harry saw him as the gatekeeper to the entrance of hell, keeping him locked amidst agony day by day. With each passing moment he became weaker which made the pain as it came even more difficult to bear. But the beast held it over his head, tormenting his light and dark with wretched flames of affliction. There was no escape.

"He um. He desensitized us to that kind of stuff. Like death. He never let us mourn. He controlled all that we did - from the food we ate to the clothes we wore. He made us go out in practically nothing to get customers. He wouldn't let us leave the house unless we had to. He made sure he knew where we were and what we were doing at all times. I'm sure he has eyes all over the city. He's involved in a lot of drug stuff? I think. He didn't share that part of himself with us, but I picked up on the kind of life he lived.

"He was my master and taught me to always obey his commands. No matter how they threatened my sanity. He would make me do things I would never even ... " Harry sighed.  
"- I hate him for it. I hate that he's done this to me. I'm twenty one now... I'll be twenty two in February. I haven't seen my mother in five years and that's all because of him. He's trapped me, not only physically but mentally. I still look over my shoulder, expecting him to be staring back, scrutinizing my every move. It's hard to live, like that. You know?

"I'm sorry if none of this helps the investigation. I've been shaking this whole time trying to ... figure out my thoughts, I suppose. There wasn't a lot we were allowed to say under that roof. It seems like someone was always getting popped for mouthing off. He didn't want us to have opinions or voice our thoughts. He didn't want us to stand up for ourselves. We were supposed to be his slaves. We belonged to him, our bodies, our minds - we did what we had to and we tried not to make things harder for ourselves by feeling so much,"

Harry felt like he was learning to breath again once the conglomeration of thoughts tumbled from his lips. He hoped the detective would understand and perhaps conceptualize just how extensive the abuse was. Harry wasn't confident he'd given her any decent information at all. All he could do was hope for the best.

~ ❁ ~


	32. t h i r t y - o n e

 

~ ❁ ~

The next couple of days weren't as stressful as the last. The police department was in full investigation, but they needed a bit more information in order to make the full raid and arrest, and until they remainder of the girls were in police custody their fate was yet to be determined.

Harry found himself biting his nails with each passing hour, scrutinizing the security of it all. How would they be sure to get everyone out safely? How would they know who to arrest and who to set free? He questioned the institution of law enforcement, seeing as they let this type of maleficence drag on for several years. He didn't understand any of it and he found it difficult to trust them with the lives of his sisters. They'd already lost so much.

On a more positive note, (so Harry perceived it as positive though he felt quite cheerless inside) they were able to find Keshia a suitable placement home while the investigation took place. Charges weren't delivered until everyone involved had been brought in for thorough questioning and they felt it would be safer for the young girl whom which seemed to be prized in the eyes of the perpetrators to be put somewhere she couldn't easily be targeted.

As much as both Harry and Louis wanted to deny it, Liam had been to his apartment complex before and if he wanted to do some serious damage to either of them he wouldn't have to look very hard before he discovered their whereabouts. Harry knew it was best for Keshia to go, but it didn't make it any easier to bid her farewell. She promised him it wasn't a final goodbye and he knew that, but he was so used to her presence that her absence gouged a hole in his heart.

And with Keshia's departure, left only two.

Harry didn't know how to feel about Louis. Well— correct that. He knew how he felt, but could not identify a suitable word to describe his affections.

Each morning Louis would rise to make breakfast before he went to work. He would dance around the kitchen shirtless in the orange glow of a day anew while flipping buttermilk pancakes and dicing fresh strawberries. Sometimes Harry would sit at the island countertop with a blanket curled around his frame and watch him, feeling absolutely smitten by his delicate mannerisms.

Louis was strong, passionate and powerful like the storm, yet steady and sure as a ship on its waters. He was bright and spectacular like aurora borealis in every aspect of his being - from his shimmering eyes and his sharp smile to his ability to find pleasantries amidst the craziness of their circumstances. His soul was pure and warm, sort of like how the midday light felt against Harry's skin as it beamed through the bedroom curtains. Harry saw Louis in everything these days, but for some reason it wasn't so scary anymore. Now it just felt natural and mundane, like breathing. 

At first, Louis would insist not to encroach on Harry's personal space, reserving upmost respect for the time his system needed to reboot. Around the fourth day, Harry started having trouble falling asleep at night because all the thoughts his mind continued to entertain even after the lights went out. Louis was hesitant at first, but when Harry appeared at his bedroom door, he sighed and invited the boy under his covers.

Somewhere deep down they both knew they couldn't stay apart for very long.

Their lives, feelings, and inhibitions were gradually tangling together like their legs beneath the duvet. Harry reveled in the small comforts Louis provided for him, like the meals and the back rubs and the way he cast a smile at him throughout the standard day.

But little could combat the way Harry felt when Louis pulled him close against his chest in the eve, closing his arms around Harry's torso while sliding a knee between Harry's thighs. Louis had never initiated anything sexual between them while he was here, for which Harry was grateful (to some extent). However, the young man couldn't deny how much he missed his body being laved in Louis's unwavering sentiments.

Harry found himself watching Louis's lips as he slept some nights, wishing he could cup his jaw, kiss him deeply and start something right then and there, but just as Louis respected him, Harry had to honor the same.

He knew having sex would only complicate things more, delve them deeper into this - whatever it was with no hope of return. It was all or nothing. If Louis took his body he would also take his heart and soul, and Harry wasn't sure he was ready for all of that.

In fact Harry was always pretty certain he didn't want to get seriously romantically involved with anyone. He'd long since had his heart shattered by a boy he'd thought was his soulmate. A teenage fling had terrified him, made him feel like he could never have a shot at true love. He didn't want to venture beyond their fragile boundaries only to be mutilated once again. Harry believed that if his heart was broken this time there was no way he could recover. That was what kept him from voicing his feelings.

And Louis was one of the only men in his world who ever showed him kindness and compassion. He didn't want to sacrifice it for what he thought was 'love'. He never really conceptualized 'love'. After Justin, Harry just didn't want to think about it anymore. To him, it was very obvious that Louis was nothing like that boy - was in no way selfish and cruel and would never hurt Harry out of ignorance.

It had been increasingly hard for Harry to protect himself when he wanted to destroy the walls keeping them apart. What he needed to figure out was if he was willing to take the risk.

"Harry," Louis hummed, tracing circles into his back.

Louis had closed his laptop a good twenty minutes ago. The two of them had eaten dinner about an hour ago. Keshia had left forty-eight hours prior. Harry had showed up on his doorstep a week heretofore. Time was irrelevant in Louis's arms.

Harry shifted for the third time in the last five minutes, sitting up straighter against the pillows. He glanced up at Louis, taking in the set line of his jaw. He was concerned.

"You okay?" Louis asked as the boy quietly nestled back into his side. He rested his knuckles against Harry's lower stomach. He could easily sense the tension throughout the younger boy's body.

"M'm," Harry murmured, burrowing his face in Louis's throat. He could feel the scrape of his beard, smell his aftershave and the remnants of his cologne after a long day at the office. The sheets were cool and silky around their bodies, but the air was warm, heavenly - _home_.  He couldn't help but think this is how it would be -

"What are you thinking about?" Louis whispered as Harry curled even closer to his frame.

He huffed as he felt Louis's hand move to caress the back of his neck. His touch was always endearingly featherlight; made him feel soft, sweet, good.

"Nothing," Harry mumbled. Louis tutted under his breath.

"I know a lot has been going on lately. You can talk to me,"

Harry ran his hand up Louis's torso, curling his fingers to stroke a set of knuckles against the base of Louis's neck. He glanced up into those blue eyes, reveling in the way they glistened in the dim lamp light.

"I don't know," he sighed, shifting against the mattress. "I guess I'm worried about like, the raid. I don't want anyone to get hurt," his voice quivered as he spoke. Sure he was deflecting a bit, but he wasn't ready to address what his real troubles were.

"They know none of the girls are responsible for this. They'll only be looking for Liam and possibly that Niall kid," Louis assured, twirling his index in one of Harry's wayward curls.

"I didn't tell Detective Morris about Niall and Ira. I didn't explain it, other than her suicide. Do you think I should have?" Harry turned in Louis's arms, frenzy-eyed. The last thing he wanted was for the police to let Niall go when he was guilty of rape.

"Sh. It's alright, Harry. I think you told her enough information for now. Once all of the girls regroup you all can discuss it then, maybe get in contact with Ira's family. I wouldn't worry about it now, though," Louis said in a peaceful tone. He ran the pad of his thumb along the back of Harry's neck, trying to shift his attention.

Harry nodded, visibly relaxing against Louis's chest. He always found it easy to listen to Louis, to obey him and follow his suggestions. He was smart and level headed and never made Harry feel bad about himself. Harry needed a man like that in his life - who wouldn't force but gently guide, admonish, provide comfort and shelter him from the harrowing world. Harry knew Louis would always protect him, would always invite him in even if he didn't have anything to provide in return.

"I know I'm stressing out. I don't mean to," Harry muttered, his lips moving against Louis's collarbones.

"I think you need to relax," Louis proposed, as he lifted Harry's head. He smiled, moving lengths of curly hair back and away from his face.

The way Louis looked at Harry should have been enough to convince him, truly. He felt his heart swell in his chest as Louis's eyes traced his delicate features, from the bridge of his nose to the bow of his lip.

"I could run you a bath," Louis said, soothing his fingers across Harry's shoulder blades. Harry watched Louis's lips as they moved, only a few inches from his own.

"That would be nice," he breathed, achingly. There was no way the older couldn't sense the unrest between their bodies. Harry was exuding need like an efflorescent flower.

Louis tilted his head up a bit, then began to lean inward. Harry felt his heart rate spike at the thought of their lips touching. Harry closed his eyes and got lost in the feeling of Louis's presence - his touch, his voice, his body heat - while he awaited the collision of their mouths.

Louis pressed his lips to the corner of Harry's cheek, providing him with the most chastity he'd ever received from the man. Harry frowned up at Louis, frustration coloring his face.

"Come on, let me up," Louis smirked, no doubt sensing Harry's annoyance. But the older man seemingly ignored his lustful desires as he stood from the bed and padded across the floor into the bathroom.

Harry sighed as he laid back against the vacant sheets, baffled yet again.  
He knew Louis cared about him. It was the only reason he kept toying with Harry's emotions. He wanted, like hell he wanted — but for sake of retaining control over the situation, Louis refused to let his longing get the best of him. He was willing to put them both through purgatory in order to make sure he didn't mess things up. He had promised not to let sex act as a distraction from the real conflicts in their lives and it was a promise he well intended to keep. Harry agreed with him, but it wasn't enough to settle the ache in his bones.

Soon the sound of faucet water filled Harry's ears. He could already feel the mist on his skin and he hummed, delightedly. He stood from the bed and bounded toward the bathroom.

When he arrived, Louis glanced up at him from where he leant over the tub, sleeves rolled up as he ran his fingers lightly over the glistening waves.

"Are you too old for bubbles?" Louis quipped as he sat back on his haunches. Harry huffed as he pushed his pants down his legs.

"Never too old for bubbles," Harry replied as he kicked his briefs into the corner of the room. He didn't miss the way Louis's eyes trailed over his body, down his torso to the mentionable assets between his thighs. Shameless, he was. Since birth Harry had never felt demure about his body and he certainly didn't mind if Louis took a peek.

The older man regained himself quickly and averted his eyes. Louis continued his affairs; retrieved a fair sized bottle from underneath the sink, uncapped it and began generously drizzling the thick soap into the running water as if it were chocolate syrup on a sundae.

Harry tugged a fresh towel out of the linen closet as the tub began to fill with suds. "Harry, come get in the water, Love," Louis chided, disallowing him to do any of the work. Harry rolled his eyes as he laid the towel on the edge of the sink.

But he climbed over the ledge of the tub and sank into the water anyway, sighing aloud as the heat infiltrated his muscles and sent a lovely sensation through his veins.

"Feels nice, hm?" Louis asked as he uncapped a bottle of shower gel, pouring some in along side the still running faucet. The bath reeked of sweet tangerine and lavender, an enchanting mix that overwhelmed Harry's aromatic senses.

"Yeah," Harry answered, voice lethargically laced. He could already feel his heart slowing, the muscles and tendons loosening and his mind releasing all the raucous thoughts of the past few days.

When it rose as high as it could go without spilling over the sides of the tub, Louis shut the water off. Harry tipped his head back, submerging his head in the soft white suds as Louis sat quietly beside the boy for a few moments.

The trickle of bath water coasted down Harry's neck and back into the tub as he sat up once more.

"Is it warm enough for you? I didn't want to make it too hot," Louis inquired as he reached out, moving his fingers through Harry's wet hair. The boy nodded while swirling his hands in the milky water.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, feeling childish all of a sudden. For the life of him he couldn't understand why Louis got off on pampering a prostitute. This wasn't his duty, to treat Harry like a prince, to wait on his every beck and call as if his life depended on it -

Harry caught himself staring at the tiles on the wall in front of him. He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, sliding deeper under the water.

"No problem," Louis said as he reached up to the shower shelf for his shampoo. "Would you like me to wash you hair?"

Harry exhaled as he scratched at his chest. "Sure," he answered, distantly.

Louis poured some of the lather in his hands and began spreading his fingers through Harry's scalp. His movements were gentle and placating. Harry inhaled and pushed his head back toward the edge of the tub, seeking more of the older man's touch.

They both kept quiet throughout most of the process. Louis occasionally asked the younger to dip his head under the water and made sure not to get soap in Harry's eyes.

About ten minutes later, Louis stood from the edge of the tub and began to leave the room.

"Wait- where are you going?" Harry asked, drowsily. Maybe it was hard for Louis to stick around one of his temptations, but Harry still needed him close.

"I'll let you wash up. I don't mean to linger -"

"No, stay," Harry pleaded, outstretching his arm to beckon his friend. Louis sighed as he walked back into the bathroom, sitting down on the toilet lid this time.

The heat of the bath was fading and Harry's skin was soon to be pruned, but he tried his best to savor the memories that came in floods from soaking in the tub.

"I always liked baths better than showers," Harry found himself musing in the silence. The sound of trickling water was the only attribute to the reverent aura as Harry continued.

"Yeah?"

"My mother would run me a bath after dinner when I was little. She used to come in after cleaning the kitchen and help me wash my hair. I remember I had a set of sharks that squirted, some boats I think. I'd play in the water for hours, it felt like. I was all wrinkly by bedtime," he chuckled, turning to glance up at Louis.

Louis didn't reply. He nodded solemnly, absorbing the words Harry spoke. Sometimes Harry just wanted to share the memories of his childhood, make fruitless commentary and have tame discussions with his favorite boy. Often times it got difficult because Louis was so apprehensive, so scared of pinching a nerve and Harry was so timid, so terrified of scaring Louis away. It made daily exchanges quite interesting considering most conflict occurred within their own minds.

"You miss her," Louis mentioned.

Harry frowned. He knew that, but he wasn't sure he ever explained how he felt about it to Louis.

"Of course," he admitted. He made a bitter face as the next thought popped into his conscience. "She probably doesn't want anything to do with me now, though,"

He only spoke the words because he wanted Louis to deny him, to stop him in his tracks and assure him otherwise. And maybe it was a bad thing for Harry to push Louis's buttons, just to watch him fight back. But there was something quite appealing in the way Louis was always so quick to hush Harry's insecurities.

"You know that's not true," Louis smiled sadly. Harry shook his head because he wasn't sure what he knew.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," the older man exhaled as he leaned forward, folding his arms on his knees.

Harry looked at Louis with pity-seeking eyes. It wasn't always about reassurance; sometimes he just wanted to be treated like a child; an innocent child without the years of baggage hanging in the rifts of his shadow. It was tough, always stuck in a whirlwind of past, present and future. Harry knew it would be a long time before he truly healed and before those around him saw more than just a victim.

Louis peered into his eyes for a long moment, blinking only once. Harry pursed his lips, brought his knees up to his chest to hide himself from the man's powerful gaze.

Louis cleared his throat, another flow of breath leaving his chest. "All I want is to... to make you _feel_ better. All I've ever wanted to was to help you move past all this pain, Harry. Don't you... you understand that, right?"

Harry looked away, suddenly captivated by the way his fingers voluntarily danced along the rippling waves.

"I know you've had your heart broken. But that doesn't mean you always have to presume the worst of everyone,"

It was hard to hear that from someone like Louis - someone who had lived a somewhat pleasant, normal existence. Harry knew Louis didn't know what it was like for him, however, he didn't have the energy nor the fervency to argue, so he chose to process Louis's statement instead of generating a retort. He knew Louis meant no harm.

"I want the world for you," Louis mused, his voice fading. Harry squinted in his direction, confused at how the older man could still see a future ahead of him. Louis was always the idealistic - he never truly understanding, but he tried to speak in hypotheticals. It was all he could offer.

Harry stayed in the bath for another fifteen minutes before the water grew lukewarm and his skin began to crawl. Louis handed him the towel, then sauntered out of the bathroom, looking the most dismal he had all week.

Harry respected Louis's thoughts truly, but sometimes it wasn't easy to listen to him talk like that. Because he spoke in fairy tales. Harry didn't intend to refute Louis, but old habits die hard and it would be awhile before he felt comfortable accepting Louis's fanciful affections. (If he ever really felt he deserved them.)

And if Harry wouldn't feel guilty yet _again_ for making Louis feel bad after all the services he'd provided to the lad throughout the weeks and months so far - he didn't have a clue what would.

"Are you angry with me?" Harry asked, as he sat on the end of Louis's bed. Louis stood in the doorway of his room, his forearm resting against the frame. He turned toward Harry, running a troubling hand through his locks.

"No, I just. This might sound selfish and stupid for me to say, but ... sometimes I wish you could understand what this is like for _me_ ," he sighed, moving into the room. Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, knowing confidently there was no way he'd ever be able to see this situation through Louis's eyes. He felt selfish in his own way because Louis had had to face all of it alone. He wished there was something he could do to help; some way he could distract Louis from feeling this way.

"It's not your fault. In this world some people were meant to hurt and... others were meant to heal," Louis reverently whispered as he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders.

There was nothing Louis could do to make Harry understand— it made everything so heavy in that moment.

Harry turned his body slightly, placing his hands against Louis's hips, just above the waistline of his joggers. He rested his cheek against Louis's warm stomach, smoothing his hands around Louis's hips to link them against his lower back.

Louis silently carded his fingers through Harry's hair, providing that same lethal affection that caught Harry in his web all those months ago. So much time had passed from that first night they met in the club - since the first time Louis expressed his desires for the boy, so many feelings had since bedeviled the soulless bond they formed that night and so much had happened since then and sometimes - against his every will to protest it - Harry worried Louis didn't _feel_ for him anymore. 

Harry allowed Louis's embrace to overwhelm him for several long moments before he pulled away slightly.

"Hm?"

"I have a question," Harry murmured, tracing his finger along the jut of Louis's hip bone.

"Go ahead," Louis hummed, tenderly. His eyes were so _warm_ , Harry awed.

"Do you still want me?" He wondered. It had been a long time since they openly acknowledged the weeks they spent in each other's mouths. Harry thought about it more often than he should. Things had been oddly chaste between the two of them these past few days.

Louis was deafeningly silent for a long moment, sparking panic and regret in Harry's gut. Maybe there was a reason they'd never discussed it.

"Harry..."

"Do you?" He asked again, feeling an insistent heat crawl through his bones.

"Yes, I do," Louis winced, his eyes falling to Harry's pressed lips. He ran his thumb along Harry's temple, sighing as Harry glanced up with longing in his eyes.

Once again, Harry felt like they were the only two people in the world. In that moment, the apartment was silent apart from the hum of the heater. The air was contingent and fortuitous, yet there was a noxious element underneath its congeniality.

All Harry wanted to feel was _this_ \- the hope, the joy - the promise of possibility. He took a sharp inhale, and all of a sudden the importunate feelings of lust had completely devoured his sense of judgement. Everything became fuzzy around the edges in his presence - like a good, throbbing high, stripping him of all elements prone to resist. Nothing could penetrate the heart-pounding bliss Harry suddenly underwent.

"Then _kiss_ me," Harry begged, the unbearable angst of he past week fueling his impatience. Every fiber of his being seemed to explode with elation when Louis leaned down and caught Harry's lips in a soft, slow kiss. He cupped Harry's jaw and tilted his head back ever so slightly - curling his tongue in and swiping it out against the roof of Harry's mouth.

Harry's fingers trembled as he slid his hands up Louis's sides, then back down. He could feel his body burning with anticipation -

Louis's fingers curled against Harry's nape, his blunt fingernails lightly scraping against his damp curls. He breathed out harshly through his nose as Harry pressed their mouths together again with the force of a tidal wave. The moment seemed to alter the prospects of time and space itself. Harry could feel the high bursting hues behind his eyelids with his desire to ravish what he'd been starved of.

"Harry, I ... please," Louis sighed. With the heavy weight of reluctance evident in the lowness of his tone, he slid his wrist down to Harry's chest, tapping his knuckles against Harry's left pectoral. Harry wondered if he could feel how fast his heart was beating.

"So much has happened and... I just. I don't want to complicate your feelings —"

"You _won't_ ," Harry quickly dismissed, placing both hands on Louis's face, gliding his right hand to cradle the back of his head. He gently sank his teeth into Louis's bottom lip, hoping to distract the man just enough to weaken his whatever moral compasses that inhibited him.

"You don't know that," Louis huffed, indignantly, prying Harry's hand off of him.

"I do," Harry argued, a crease forming against his brow. "I know what this is. And I know what I want,"

Louis didn't speak for a moment, the words sinking beneath his blushing skin. Harry's eyes traced his precious features, seeking out the tension in which he sought to alleviate.

There had been so much time - so many days and weeks and months had gone by - time wasted; time Harry could never get back. He had spent too much of it mulling over improbabilities, scaring himself with the idea of possibility henceforth diminishing his chances of opportunity.

He was so tired of that look Louis was giving him - the ' _This is what you do, isn't it ? you don't know any better_ ' look. The crease of his brow, the purse of his lip, the pity in his eyes — He was so tired of being this chimerical concept in Louis's head - the poor rent boy from humble beginnings, traumatized into a life of libidinous immorality. He was just a person, no matter what he'd been through. He wanted things too. His hurt didn't have to define him, right? So why was it that after all the façades, the fights, the tears and the lies and the insecurities and the fears and the emotional horse shit was Louis still treating him like a wounded puppy?

Louis seemed to look at him once more, but the usual incertitude had dissipated from the dark of his eye.

"I want you," Harry repeated in a sweet, yet lurid lilt, smoothing his hands down Louis's spine, flattening them against his shoulder blades.

Louis didn't speak.

"Your the only one I've ever wanted," he assured, dragging his lips down Louis's neck. With that sentiment, Louis lowered his eyes, something somber in the way his eyebrows wrinkled.

Soft. Warm. Smooth. Harry hummed as he felt Louis's hand find the back of his bicep. He felt himself being pushed forward and he allowed it immediately, a smile creeping against the corners of his lips as Louis climbed on top of him. Louis's weight was always welcome and Harry moved up against the mattress, nibbling his bottom lip as the older man lowered his chest against his.

 _Yes, yes please touch me_. Harry thought excitedly, as he pressed his lips to Louis's jugular. He missed this unbreathable closeness the most -  and it wasn't even the sexual aspect of it that made him so bewitched.

He used his hands to tilt Louis's head up, aligning their lips before his tongue sank in to the warmth of Louis's mouth. He sighed through his nose as Louis's gentle fingers tickled the base of his spine, just where the hem of his towel began to slip. Harry smiled against Louis's skin - he didn't mind.

Louis was feather light - barely there touches and almost unsure kisses that Harry certainly was not used to. He could tell Louis wanted this to be different, and Harry could safely say that whatever this was would be new to him as well.

"Slow," was the only thing Louis said, whispered against the shell of Harry's ear like a dirty secret, his heart beat thumping wildly between the press of their bodies.

Harry hummed in affirmation. They kissed again, Harry smiling softly when Louis pressed his hand against Harry's throat. The warmth of Louis's gentle fingers spread into something infectious across Harry's neck, then his chest, then his abdomen. The way Louis's wrist trembled as he pulled away - then the way Harry grabbed his hand and placed it against his ribs to feel the way his heart raced -

"I've never felt like this," Harry blurted, watching Louis's eyes flicker with intrigue. He wasn't sure why he felt like his heart was on fire - as if the flames of hell might at any moment engulf his pulmonary cavity. He ached for this propinquity with Louis, felt its burden weighing him down into the mattress. He could hardly breathe against the pressure.

"How do you feel?" Louis asked, fondly, lightly scratching at Harry's back, innocent fingertips dusting across ugly scars. 

Harry couldn't describe it. It felt like everything and nothing was consuming him all at once. His throat was dry and he was wordless, thoughtless - feeling foolish with Louis's eyes so avidly fixated upon him, yet most adored by his amatory gaze. He yearned for this, he realized; to be held and kissed and touched by this man. This irrevocable force in his body was pulling him toward Louis— and it was building, fighting, quickly pushing its way to the forefront of his apperception.

"I feel like I'm sick with it. It's like I'm burning up inside," his eyes shimmered as he tried to come to some accord with his tangled thoughts and feelings. Louis smiled gently at him, using his thumb to push away some of the stress lines in Harry's brow. "It's like, all I can think about. It's all I've been able to think about for so long. The thought of this - of you ... it's what keeps me sane. And all I can think about is just... how much I love it when you take care of me, how you set yourself aside and devote so much of your time to me ...  even though I'm just... I'm nothing. And how... when you look at me, your eyes shine like diamonds... and when you touch me, how gentle you are and how special I feel when I'm in your arms. I just... I can't think of anything else I want more - I... I like you so much Louis, I –" Harry shook his head in disbelief. He swallowed hard, feeling as though his throat was closing up around him. Realization hit him like a piece of the dark sky was falling, pressing him further into this fantastic reality. Harry soothed his fingers through the soft of Louis's hair, his mind set at immediate ease when he felt Louis's lips scraping along his neck, moving up behind his ear.

Maybe it had always been that simple.

Louis pulled away for a moment and looked at him, his fringe a messy halo about his head. He wet his lips, Adam's apple dipping then reappearing as the words sank in. He looked so cool, in that moment. He looked so calm and blasé as if anything could fall from Harry lips and hold the poetic weight of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Louis squinted pensively, as if trying to decipher all of Harry's twisted sentiments himself. But it was too much — even Harry knew that. He felt himself falling even as the words mulled over in his mentality; felt himself desperately seeking and grasping for anything he could reach before he allowed himself to accept such a paradoxical reality.

He had spent so much of his time - _years_ , trying to transmogrify some perfect alternate existence where he wasn't able to feel the warmth of the sun on his fingertips, where he wasn't affected by the sweetness of a comfortable stranger, nor the bittersweet farewell of a beautiful friendship. Years passed as he pressed down on his pulse, trying so desperately to make it disappear into his flesh and blood, trying to mold the murmur into a memory. He succeeded for a time, had played tricks on his mind with a convoluted delusion. He'd been able to convince himself that this was the stuff of fairy tales and cinema screens - that in the _real_ world _real_ people didn't feel these things because these _things_ _weren't_ _real_.  
And sometimes Harry wanted to cry and he didn't even know why - because he'd built up these blank walls for his mind and projected these illusions onto them, told himself that he could never be this happy - that he would never feel happiness because happiness wasn't made for boys like him. And here he was, inhaling the saccharine of a divinity he'd wanted to become whole with; entwine his molecular complex with. And in the haywire of Harry's conflicted constructs, the silence became undeniably certain.

Silence.

And Harry realized that this was all he needed to find peace.

"I... I love you," Harry murmured, almost as if he were testing the words on his lips to see if they were the right fit for how he was feeling. He wasn't sure what he was saying anymore; was now strongly opposing everything he'd told himself for the past several years. He was stepping out on hope - on faith, or whatever the fuck it was. And while his heart pounded against his chest, something placated him and assured him that this was right, this was good.

"I _love you_ ," Harry pressed a kiss to Louis's knuckles, then to his cheek, then up to his temple. He kissed Louis's lips, prying his lips open once more to suck on his tongue.

"Fuck, Louis I _love you_ ," Harry's eyes gleamed as he pulled away. Louis just stared down at him like he was God, shaking his head incredulously. _Woah_. And sure, this was all quite hilarious, Harry supposed. It was so stupid but so funny and Harry's lips were against Louis's collarbones as he tried to hide his grin.

He couldn't help but shake with laughter when he glanced up and saw the look on Louis's face: the warmth in that blue, the tenderness of those lips, the understanding in those brows. _Love_ he thought giddily, enlightenment pulsing through his veins. For the first time in his life, against all the pain and the frustration and the confusion - he understood.

Louis brushed his fingers across Harry's jaw, humming his approval. He leaned in close, dusting his lips along the inner corner of Harry's cheek. The scape of his beard, the warmth of his breath, the sweet spice of his skin -

"... want you," he murmured as he arched up into Louis's body, his tongue swiping quickly across his bottom lip. Louis smoothed his hand across Harry's chest, then down his torso, curling his fingers just short of his pelvis.

Harry swallowed hard, his fingers swiping along the dip of Louis's back. It was happiness, he realized; happiness that overwhelmed his senses as Louis burned his skin with fearsome tenderness. Happiness is what drove the scrape of lips against lips, what forced the contact of skin against skin.

"I think about this so much," Harry cupped the back of Louis's neck, sighing in relief as Louis's lips melted against his, tongue pressing against him with such insistency - 

Harry's towel laid askew across his lap and Louis impatiently pushed it aside, his fingers steady, stroking languidly along the inside of his thigh. Harry's heart rate spiked at the contact, his senses sharpening in response.

"Yeah?" Louis answered, his lips moving over Harry's chest. Harry closed his eyes to savor the heat Louis was spreading across his abdomen.

Louis's breath was hot and his stubble scraped lightly against the softness of his tummy, making Harry's muscles clench in anticipation. He kissed Harry's hipbone, nipping it softly to leave a red bruise behind. His fingertips slid down the insides of Harry's thighs, thumbs parting them slightly to make space for him in between. The torridity in that moment was poison.

Harry's heart picked up as Louis wrapped a hand around the base of his cock before dipping his head down and sucking the head into his mouth. Harry could hardly breathe. He arched up without even thinking, seeking more of the wet warmth that encompassed him. He tangled his fingers in Louis's soft hair, his eyes tracing patterns in the ceiling as a sharp burst of pleasure ignited in his bones.

"Oh... _f_ - _fuck_ ," Harry gasped, trying to sit up just a little bit when Louis swiped the tip of his tongue into Harry's head, further inciting the flow of precome. Louis's lips sank down over Harry's erection, his eyelashes fluttering like the wings of an angel.

Harry fell weakly against the sheets, biting his bottom lip as he began rocking his hips up to meet Louis's mouth. His head was swarming with heat, his vision bleary with desire. It was a lot to take it - almost too much to process and far too quickly. He peered down to where Louis was, his golden fringe falling delicately into his eyes as he slid Harry's cock along the flat of his tongue, his hands running over Harry's pelvis and over the tops of his thighs.

A minute passed and Harry was already starting to feel the heat prickling at the corners of his brow, flourishing along the crown of his head. The pleasure was intense, a blister of colors like dying embers behind his eyelids. But Harry didn't just want to get off - he wanted to feel Louis in slide of him, around him, touching and kissing and caressing him with a tenderness, a complex of vulnerability and fear set to rest with an untouchable assurance. So he combed his fingers across Louis's head, lightly scratching his nails against Louis's scalp to get his attention.

Louis seemed to understand and Harry didn't bother asking how. They had always been in tune. Harry's breath hitched as Louis crawled back up to press their chests together, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck.

Louis ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of Harry lips, teasing until they gave way. Harry felt sparks in the pit of his stomach, excitement exploding along his arid nerve endings.

He moaned breathily, blindly reaching forward and grabbing Louis by the back of his head, tugging him in and kissing him hungrily.

He curled his hand against Louis's chin, sliding his tongue into Louis's mouth with a groan. He could taste himself there in the heat of Louis's mouth and it was intoxicating, breathtaking.

Louis leaned down to kiss Harry's neck, his lips sucking a soft trail of bruises into his sensitive skin. Harry hastily smoothed his hands down Louis's sides, pushing his fingers under the waistband of Louis's joggers. Harry cupped Louis's hips under the fabric as he grounded up against his clothed erection, his lips falling open at the rough sensation.

"Get them _off_ ," Harry growled in frustration, smiling impishly as Louis caressed his cheek, leaning in to nip his bottom lip.

"So demanding," he hummed lightly against Harry's skin. Louis's eyes said everything in that moment, settling the last of Harry's brooding uncertainties. There wasn't anything else for him to fight. There was no reason Harry couldn't feel this moment; more tangible than anything else he'd allowed himself to have in the past few years. So Harry closed his eyes and finally, finally after longer than he could remember— he let go.

"'Want you to fuck me," Harry breathed against Louis's cheek as he pushed the older man's pants down his hips in one swift motion. Louis kicked them the rest of the way off the bed. Harry's fingers trembled as they ran up Louis's sides, scraping down the smooth plane of Louis's back.

"Yeah," Louis agreed, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck when Harry started palming him.

"Come up, Babe, grab the lube -" Harry spoke as he kissed up Louis's neck, continuing to pleasure the older man. Louis's breathing was labored, but after a moment he found the strength to press his forearm into the mattress above Harry's head while the other hand blindly felt around the night table drawer.

Harry rutted up slowly, his cheeks flushed a bloodshot burgundy with his desperation. It had been a while since he'd had sex for pleasure since Louis had been cutting him off. And Harry sort of knew this was a bad idea. But he had to savor this moment because he didn't know when Louis would be weak like this again. This was what they both wanted - some semblance of togetherness and every minute of everyday was torturous when they couldn't touch each other in the way they truly desired. They couldn't _belong_ to one another and Harry was so sick of having to restrain himself, prohibiting the one thing he was sure of.

He smiled mildly against Louis's Adam's apple when he older man returned, dropping the lube and a string of condoms beside him on the bed.

"Move up a little, hm," Louis whispered drunkly, tracing his thumb over Harry's cupid's bow, running his index finger down his temple. His eyes were hooded and his skin was hot like a furnace. Harry nodded and began to sit up a bit, watching as Louis opened the bottle of lube with a soft _snick_.

Louis moved down Harry's body slowly, kissing Harry's chest, then stomach. Harry rested his head back against Louis's pillow as Louis lifted Harry's right leg into the crook of his elbow.

"Remember what to do?" Harry taunted, biting the back of his hand to hide his smirk. Louis's eyes flickered as he processed the bitter sentiment.

"Fuck off, why don't you," he chuckled, pinching Harry's inner thigh. That look on Louis's face - _Happiness_ , Harry thought.

The boy made a sharp intake of breath as Louis ran the pad of his finger around his hole. He closed his eyes, reminding himself to relax. Louis kissed his knee as he coated his rim with the slightly cold substance, humming to keep Harry calm as he slid a finger inside.

"I feel like it's been forever," Harry said, his eyes watching the shadows of the city as they loomed like demons on the ceiling.

Louis hummed in affirmation and Harry wasn't sure if it was an agreeable affirmation or a neutral one.

Harry blinked as Louis pressed a second finger in after the first, impatiently propping himself up on his arms. "Hurry up," Harry complained as Louis moved his hand in rhythmic pulses, scissoring his fingers and twisting them to ensure a job well done.

"Nothing but demands from you, I swear," Louis bit back a smile, his eyes twinkling in amusement. He disregarded Harry's pleas, however. And somewhere within Harry already knew Louis would never rush through preparations. He huffed as he flopped back onto the mattress, lurching his leg as if to kick Louis upside the head.

Louis pushed a third finger in slowly, wary of causing pain, but to Harry the stretch was hardly afflictive. He ran an idle hand over his belly, just above the engorged head of his cock. Louis sucked at Harry's hipbone as he moved his fingers in and out of the channel, pressing his fingers up against Harry's walls simply to give the boy something to look forward to.

Harry whimpered softly, his body shuddering when he felt Louis's middle finger brush against his prostate. Louis glanced up at the boy, his eyes darkening with an almost animalistic avidity. His eyebrow quirked slyly as he continued to tease Harry's spot, watching the boy arch in absolute bliss. 

"Feel good?" Louis asked, his eyes glistening as he watched Harry's chest bloom with warmth. Louis's free hand found its way around Harry's cock, stroking him slowly, but in time with the thrusts of his fingers. Louis leaned forward, poking his tongue out and lapping up a blurt of precome from the tip.

Harry's brow strained as he nodded eagerly, breath picking up with every stroke of Louis's roguish fingers. Louis moved his mouth carefully, tauntingly tonguing a line up Harry's shaft just to hear him moan.

"Fuck, Lou," Harry slurred, his chest quivering with each sporadic breath. His blood was running ice cold, muscles taut like bow strings as he was overcome with a pleasure so sharp it was numbing. Louis hummed delightedly, no doubt enjoying every moment of torment he was inflicting upon Harry as he tongued at his sensitive head and curled his finger into the boy's prostate, softly stroking it, almost coaxing it.

Harry choked on a heavy inhale as Louis's fingers suddenly disappeared. He blinked himself back into reality, the euphoric sensation oozing out of him until it was once again a gentle, but insistent tug in his pelvis. He wiped his hand against his forehead in a futile attempt to lessen the redness as Louis gave his cock a few firm pulls before tearing open a condom package and rolling it on with his fist.

Harry's gaze sharpened in anticipation as Louis pressed his legs open, moving in close and glancing down to position the head of his cock against Harry's rim.

Harry swallowed hard, combing his fingertips up Louis's back. Louis smiled warmly, his lashes fluttering as he brushed the tip of his nose against Harry's temple. The sweet smell of him, the heat of his body pressed so close - it made Harry feel weak.

Without another word Louis pressed his lips against Harry's mouth and pressed his hips forward, sheathing himself completely in Harry's heat. Harry groaned amorously into Louis's mouth, his eyes falling shut at the feeling of being utterly, completely and wholeheartedly overwhelmed.

The younger man's breath hitched as Louis retracted, nosing along the column of Harry's throat. His blood was pumping through his heart so quickly, now. The feel of it alone was enough to excite.

Louis's lips moved down Harry's throat as his hips pivoted forward that first time. Harry gasped softly at the intensity of the intrusion, but was grateful Louis didn't make him wait any longer.

And for quite some time Harry had refused to want this. It was hard for someone like him - someone whose first experience with sex was so atrocious. It was all he drew from. He had nothing to compare to back then — and even still. He was constantly reverting back to that innocent boy with no preconception of love or sex or intimacy at all and while he felt good with Louis for all those months he was constantly unsure of himself, unsure of whether or not this was something he was allowed to have.

Harry traced every bump and rise of Louis's spine, glaring up at the older man with this new fascination pooling in his eyes. The feeling of Louis completely drowned his senses, like Louis was the ocean and Harry had never learned to swim. Louis was all he could see behind his eyelids, all he could hear and feel on his skin and taste on his tongue. The older man was engrossed within him and Harry was convinced that this feeling of never letting go would finally be permanent.

Louis was sweetly entranced, running his fingers over Harry's chest as if he was trying to outline his heartbeat beneath tissue and bone. But Harry didn't mind. He crooned at the sensation of gentle hands grazing his skin, the swell in his chest all-consuming after so many years of brutish treatment.

Louis moaned into Harry's neck as he pulled out again, finally establishing some sort of rhythm.

"Oh God, Lou -" Harry breathed, his back arching up off the bed as Louis rolled his hips in again, hitting his prostate dead on. A coil of hot and cold surged through his body like a typhoon, attacking his system and rendering his mind a blurry haze of _more more more_.

Harry gripped Louis's hair, gliding his hand down to cup the back of his neck. Louis hummed gently against the shell of his ear, his voice sending soft vibrations through Harry's head.

"Fuck ... harder, f-fuck me harder," Harry begged, although something told him Louis wasn't going to be as rough as usual with him tonight. Louis pulled out almost all the way before thrusting his hips in at the perfect angle, making Harry throw his head back against the pillow, sobbing in ecstasy.

He grew impatient; insistent, and found himself running his own hand down his torso, seeking out the base of his cock. Harry could only hear static as a searing cold pleasure violated him, a fire erupting in his bones. The thought of orgasm was so appealing and he couldn't help but tightly wrap his fingers around himself, keening at the sensation.

His eyes flitted closed for a brevity as his mind filled with the hazy pleasure. Louis sucked at his pulse point as he continued to fuck Harry in short but strong bursts, his passion and precision more than enough to render Harry thoughtless.

Then Louis snatched Harry's hand away from his cock, pushing both of his wrists into the mattress above his head. Harry glanced up at Louis, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"No cheating," Louis smiled, his thumbs brushing over Harry's pulse points as he pressed their fronts even closer together, trapping Harry's cock against his belly. The friction he felt once Louis picked up the pace - the boy saw stars; the bright, cuspate glow of pleasure bursting behind his eyelids. 

Harry melted weakly against the sheets, his heart pounding against his chest as Louis pressed into him a little harder, kissed him a little softer, touched him a little sweeter -

He groaned as he hooked his ankles around the back of Louis's thighs, trying to draw him in closer - deeper. He could already feel the pressure building in his abdomen, teasing him as it gave way. Louis bit and sucked at his chest, undulating his hips smoothly. Harry clenched his fingers together, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as the sweltering warmth exhausted him.

"Lou... _God_ , Lou you're s-so good," Harry stammered, his throat convulsing around the words. Louis smirked ardently, trailing a few fingers across Harry's face, down to his lips where each erratic breath escaped.

Harry huffed, could feel hot tears slipping down his cheeks as Louis's lips collided with his. With his now free hand he reached up and cradled Louis's face, dusting his thumb over his cheekbone. He rolled his hips up into Louis's thrusts as the man hit his prostate dead on, the pleasure so sharp and the feeling so pure he could hardly fathom it.

"You're just so... so good to me," Harry sighed as he arched up, his head pulsating like every pang of pleasure shot through him was a drug. Never before had he experienced this type of paralyzing pleasure. He moaned as Louis kissed down his neck and over his chest, grinding into him while their bodies moved in sync, inward and back like the immaculacy of clockwork.

Louis took one of his hands and kissed it, held it to his chest as he listened intently to Harry's voracious ramblings. He was just too good to Harry - even after all these months of being led on, disregarded and emotionally abused by the younger boy. For some reason it was like he refused to treat Harry the way everyone else had even in the midst of all those confused feelings. Still, Harry didn't know what to make of that.

Sometimes he thought of Louis as his guardian angel; his savior, the one who swooped in like a hero and rescued him from the turmoil he'd endured since he was sixteen. He knew it was silly to entertain them, but he couldn't help but smile when he reminisced what the man had sacrificed for him - what he had risked all for that little southern runaway with the dark curls and countless names on his lips.

Harry didn't deserve it. He knew he didn't deserve to be here with the man whose face only showed in his dreams. But life had a funny way of contorting a nightmare into reality, then maybe that reality into a fantasy. And Harry wasn't sure whether or not he was allowed to indulge in this happiness - the happiness that brought tears to his eyes every time he thought of it - in fear of it being ripped away in the not so distant future.

Harry took a shuddering breath as Louis's thrusts sped slightly. The stimulation alone was enough to make him orgasm, but he couldn't help the twinge of painful pleasure he felt when he peered up at Louis. His face twisted up as if he were having some of out of body experience, his aureate skin glistening with sweat and the tips of his fringe tangling beautifully in his lengthy lashes.

Harry could feel Louis's hand snaking down between their bodies and he let out a hoarse cry when Louis began stroking him quickly, his hips moving to the same beat.

And then all was nothing to Harry - his chest oscillated with something greater than just the exhilaration of his peak. The merciless tremors wracked his framework, goosebumps breaking out across his skin and challenging his ability to perform respiration. He writhed restlessly, the sheets clinging to the sweat of his back.

"Fuck, I - I'm close," Louis murmured, his entire body shivering as he fought the flood of orgasm. His muscles flexed with the effort of holding it back, but Harry knew he was climbing fast and couldn't stave it off for much longer.

For the first time he actually felt conjoined with Louis - as if their bodies shared something no other human could ever comprehend. It was intense, but good - so so fucking good and Harry could hardly obtain oxygen as the ice of his orgasm muddled the last of his coherency. 

"God, I love you," Harry sobbed softly as he clawed the nape of Louis's neck, his body trembling as the strong sensation in his hips aggrandized. His fingertips charred against Louis's skin as ice collided with fire, the two of them once completely ridden by divergence and now entwined with an undefinable potency.

Louis's fingers slowed as Harry arched off the bed and painted his belly in stripes of come. He collapsed against the sheets, the mattress groaning in agony beneath him. Louis pressed their foreheads together and his hips stuttered, movements slowing gradually as he descended from his euphoric high.

Harry's eyes flickered open after a moment of reestablishing his grip on reality. He was slow to cognizance, only focused on evening his breaths as he met Louis's petrified gaze. They stared into each other's eyes like statues for a long beat of silence, catching quickened heart beats and desultory gasps.

Louis glanced down at Harry's lips, an unreadable look washing over his features before he fell forward, gathering Harry's limp physique up in his arms and holding him to his chest.

Harry cleared his throat, taking another deep breath before slipping his arms around Louis as well- moving his fingers across Louis's skin in an attempt to clear his agitated mind.

"You okay?" Harry mumbled against Louis's shoulder, his vision still fuzzy and his mind flashing with the aftershocks. Louis didn't respond. He didn't pull away for a long time either, and Harry just rubbed his back, trying to soothe him without knowledge of how he was disturbed.

He hoped Louis was okay, hadn't even thought about the repercussions of some of the things he said under heady influence. He was just so excited, so drunk on the idea of having this feeling. The last thing he had intended was to discomfit his lover.

A few beats passed and Louis was still holding him close, sheathing him from top to bottom. Harry grew concerned and tried to slither out of Louis's strong hold, but to no avail did he disentangle their limbs.

"Lou, Babe? You good?" He hummed nervously, trying to keep his tone light but unable to rid his mind from the plague of worrisome thoughts.

"Yeah,"

After another minute or so, Louis finally retracted, smiling softly at his boy. He pulled out gently, running a tired hand through his hair as he stood, stripped off the condom, tied it and tossed it toward the bedside bin.

Harry watched as he climbed back into bed, hushing his anxieties of being apart from Louis even if it was for less than a second. Louis laid down beside him and Harry curled into his chest instinctively, not even thinking as he pressed his lips to Louis's heart. It fluttered against Harry's skin, and there was something beautiful and special about that, something that made Harry feel warmth buzzing beneath his skin.

He took in another deep breath, his lips quivering as he exhaled. Louis trailed his fingers through Harry's hair, his lips branding Harry's forehead in that tenderness, that unspoken promise of _tomorrow_ no matter what the tides drew in. Harry was positive that henceforth and forever more - Louis would remain the constancy in his reckless and rash duration here on planet earth.

And he couldn't help but wipe his cheeks when he realized that he would never again have to feel alone.

~ ❁ ~


	33. t h i r t y t w o

~ ❁ ~

Harry awoke feeling radiant. He stretched his limbs, the pleasant ache in his muscles reminding him of the night before. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he rolled over, burying himself in the soft of Louis's pillow. The bed was empty, but Harry was used to waking up alone on days Louis had to work. He breathed in the fresh morning air, hugging the sheets closer to his frame and stretching his limbs out beneath the covers.

There was something marvelous about being in love. While Harry was still wary about the attachments he made, it was liberating to feel this way, to be able to close his eyes and have Louis's image burned against his eyelids. He no longer felt scared, no longer plagued by the ornery thoughts because while love itself was new and frightening, it was comforting to have someone as beautiful and as good as Louis on the other end of that kaleidoscope. He wasn't afraid of being vulnerable with Louis, had felt safe enough with the older man to confide in him practically everything. Louis was an angel among men, unworthy of average life on planet earth. Harry smiled to himself at the thought. His guardian angel, after all.

He wasn't sure what treasures this day would unveil. Louis normally came home around three and Harry wasn't sure what else he could possibly occupy himself with until then. He hadn't been doing much aside from being a worry wart about the investigation. Detective Morris lectured him on the importance of staying out of everything until further notice, to avoid complications - however Harry found it consistently challenging not to intervene because he felt like he could make some useful contributions to the task force. He knew the red light district like the back of his hand - surely it wouldn't take him very long to locate Liam's whereabouts. He could help out at the office, perhaps, help match missing persons reports to the faces of the girls he met on Planter's Road. Maybe he could help make arrangements with the families of missing girls, but then again the thought of seeking out his own mother so soon made him shudder.

Truth be told, Harry just wanted to feel useful; he was already drained of this routine, convalescing in Louis's home 'recouping' or 'recovering' or whatever the fuck it was. He was sick of playing the victim in this alternate universe. Sure he wasn't yet accustomed to communication with real poeple in the ' _real world_ ', but he knew he didn't want to be written off as the 'poor, troubled boy who was snatched from the street at a young age and forced into a life of sexual enslavement' for the remainder of his life.

He wanted to be known for greatness, achievement, retaining normality in an abnormal situation. If he was going to get attention it would be for his strength, valor and maybe even his audacity. Harry knew to most he was a sob story, nothing but an ominous headline on the front of the Philadelphia Inquirer, but if they decided to turn him into a book he didn't want the narrative to be solely focused on the abuse he suffered, but rather the challenges he overcame in order to take back his rightful place in society. Inspiring, truly.

Harry snorted. He sat up slowly, wincing as he pulled a muscle in his lower back. While he appreciated a good dicking - especially from Louis - he wasn't particularly fond of the part where he needed the ice pack to soothe his muscles after being nearly bent in half. He mustered the strength to stand, digging a hand into the tender place at the base of his spine. He wandered into the kitchen, pulled open the freezer door in search of an untouched bag of mixed vegetables. He leaned his torso against the harshly cold surface of the island countertop, body shivering as positioned the pouch against the tender area, keeping one hand on top to apply pressure.

The thing about being in love was that no matter how hard he was willing to try, he could not keep his mind from drifting back to something Louis-related. It was also a sore advancement, considering how much his brain loved to think about Louis. It was like trying to hold his breath, forcing himself not to indulge something when traces of it were completely surrounding him, engulfing him, even. Poor Harry. He sighed dreamily, the image of Louis once again filling into the forefront of his mind.

He tried not to jostle the suggestion at the back of his mind, that word - _obsession_. He tried to think about other things, but the only way Harry could to describe his dependency was to compare it to addiction. Louis was his happy place - a cool glass of Chardonnay, an exotic getaway, his own personal bottle of pain killers. Louis always knew how to distract him, knew how to capture his eyes with shiny new toys and how to keep him occupied long enough to make him forget all the things that made him feel sad. Harry didn't mind the thought of spending more time with Louis, learning all the man's secrets, fears and insecurities. For Harry, anything Louis-related was dangerously intoxicating.

Harry ended up taking a shower once his back began to feel better. He made himself a bowl of cereal, chopped an apple into fours and nibbled at the small dose of breakfast at the kitchen table, wondering what life would be like for him here if he and Louis were to start a relationship together. It wasn't an outlandish idea, considering. They already knew each other's bodies pretty well and Harry could hardly envision any cons of being with an immacculate man. Louis seemed perfect most days, from the way his skin glowed in the sunlight to the way one flash of his smile was enough to assuage Harry of all uncertainty.

He imagined life as Louis's boyfriend: he would probably go back to school, get a job doing something that made him happy. He would come home to Louis at night, hang his coat on the rack, kick off his shoes and greet the older man with a soft, domesticated kiss. Louis would talk about his day at work as he grated the cheese and Harry would listen intently as he chopped tomatoes. They would sleep in the same bed together each night, cuddled up in each other's warmth and would probably have all the sex either of them could ever want. The thought of being wanted, of belonging, of having someone to share his life with was kind of violently appealing to Harry. Which also made it one of things that were too good to be true.

Harry tidied up - his soft hands anxious for something to do. He unloaded the dishwasher, swept the hard wood floors, wiped down the kitchen counters and folded the laundry. He often felt like a child, left at home all day while Louis went off to his big boy duties. He wanted to work too; to have a respectable occupation, but he doubted anyone would want to hire someone so inutile. He had never had a job before that didn't involve some sort of vulgarity or sexual exchange, so he didn't have much to be spoken for. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy his job at the club at times - there were a lot of attractive men looking at his scantily clad body and it was easy to get carried away in the madness, ride the high of being one of the most beautiful and most desired in the room. He made a lot of tips- which Liam took of course, unless Harry hid them. He wondered if there were other places he could get hired if he put erotic dancing and sex work on his resume. Maybe if he could make some money, save up - then he could pay his way through cosmetology school, like he always dreamed. Or maybe he'd fancy something new to fit his interests. Who knew. The world was bright at the end of the tunnel, full of unfathomable opportunities. Harry couldn't wait to discover all of them.

After another despairingly drab day of trying to feel useful in some way shape or form, Harry decided to plop down on the couch and flick on the television. He never watched much tv back at the house — not only did he rarely have down time, but he never had the opportunity to immerse himself in the entertainment of common people, what with several girls calling the remote and hogging their single screen in the living room. Louis watched a program or two with him in the evenings, catching him up on the plot lines of his favorite shows and getting him all invested in characters who would inevitably end. It was fun to have other methods of distraction.

Harry's ears pricked at the sound of keys in the front lock. Louis entered a moment later, his fringe falling down into his ocean blue eyes, smooth black windbreaker folded snugly over his shoulders and his computer bag slung over one arm.

"Welcome home," Harry greeted, undeniably bored and lonely after a full seven hours of solitude. At least when Keisha was around he had someone he could talk to about what was going on, to bounce thoughts and ideas off of.

"Hey," The older man said curtly, which really should have been the first indicator that something was off. Louis's eyes were tired and his voice was riddled with an unidentifiable distaste. The older man released a short huff as he meandered into the bedroom to drop off his articles. He didn't utter another word as he made his way into the kitchen, poking through the cupboards and the fridge in search of something to eat. Louis quickly retrieved the bread, cut some tomato slices and made himself a sandwich, softly offering Harry one as well. The younger nodded as he muted the television, as the program was now doused in a considerable amount of adverts anyway. Harry stood from the couch, watching idly as Louis found a knife from the drawer and stuck it in the jar of mayonaise.

Louis finished the sandwiches and silently pushed one across the counter on a paper plate to Harry, who thanked him gently. Harry examined Louis's craven posture, and while he wanted nothing more than to reach out and cup the back of his neck, pull him in for a kiss- he was hesitant. Louis couldn't look any less amused, and stunningly enough, Harry had never seen him like this. He wasn't particularly worried, made a mental note to maybe just be a little more present in conversation, more apprehensive; calculating about the words he said and the touches he administered. It was probably nothing to get worked up over.

However Harry dared to make contact anyway, tenatively smoothing his palm down Louis's spine through the cotton of his t-shirt, offering him a small look of confusion. Louis refused to meet his gaze for a long moment as he continued to busy himself with the tidying up of the condiments. Harry sighed, feeling frustrated at Louis's refusal to acknowledge him and reached out again, catching Louis by his arm. The older man inhaled, his eyes fluttering before he flashed them toward Harry, but only for a brief second. Harry frowned. It wasn't enough.

"Come here," He commanded, pulling Louis toward him. Louis cleared his throat, avoiding Harry's eyes which was not only an uncommon occurrance, but felt incredibly discomfiting on the receiving end. Harry tilted Louis's chin up, locking their gazes for a long moment before he leaned in gradually, watching Louis's eyes for any signs of discomfort until they fell shut when Harry captured his lips in a soft kiss.

They stayed close for a minute -  a minute long enough for Harry to feel insecure about all of his actions. He ran his thumb across the corner of Louis's jaw, humming tenderly against his bottom lip as he pulled away. Harry felt the way Louis's muscles tensed as they separated, his expression freezing in time and space like ancient stone. Harry turned Louis toward him, his eyes searching the older man for any hint as to what was going on inside his head.

"Work was okay?" Harry inquired, guiding his fingers through the hair at the back of Louis's head, quirking his brow in question when the older looked up.

"Yeah, work was good. That's... um, you should eat," Louis stopped, ushering himself in a new conversational direction, much to Harry's displeasure. He tried not to feel offended by the way Louis used the importance of his own wellbeing to distract Harry from questioning his. Maybe Louis did that a lot more often than he noticed.

But Harry could read Louis's body, could tell easily he was deeply unsettled by something and it was only a matter of time before his seams bursted with the effort of keeping whatever it was at bay. Harry had been there far too many times and knew what it felt like to postpone the inevitable.

"You seem... is everything alright?" Harry asked, delicatly dusting his fingertips against Louis's fringe, trying his best not to display how out of element he was. He loved Louis, and he wanted to be the one to take care of him, so he figured now was as good a time as any to start learning all of his pressure points.

He slid his hands down over Louis's shoulders, cupping his biceps as he awaited Louis's response. Louis's eyes darted across the patterned kitchen floor, over to the moving pictures on the tv in the living room. A chill ran down his spine when Louis exhaled and pulled out of Harry's hold, his face contorting into something solemn, dark— a road untraveled.

"Um, sit please," Louis huffed at his own request, leaning his elbows on the island as Harry took his sandwich and slowly made his way around the kitchen as he was instructed, tugging out the wooden stool. Louis ran a hand across his hair, taking a deep, yet hardly cleansing breath as he prepared himself to say whatever was on his mind. Harry couldn't help but peel at the crusts of his sandwich, nerves growing in his gut at the strangeness of Louis's mood.

"We should talk," Louis simpered sadly, crossing his arms and leaning his weight down onto the counter. Harry's stomach dropped a little at the tone of his voice, but he tried his best not to show his confusion on his face, or the panic slowly simmering in his chest.

"Alright,"

"Last night... I need you to understand," Louis breathed, picking at his collar distractedly. "What we did together... it- it was... I have to apologize. I wasn't thinking clearly,"

Harry swallowed hard, the heat of dread coiling in his bones. He didn't show the worry on his face, instead busied himself with the defilement of his bread. Because if breaking Harry's heart was the primary objective, Louis was certainly off to a stellar start. Harry chastised himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Louis was only fourteen words into his statement and Harry was already making cynical inferences. _Louis was different_ , he reminded himself.

But Louis wore a weary, anxious expression. His lips were set in a firm line, but his eyes were softened with something else, something solemn. Harry couldn't help the foreboding thoughts that began to resurface in his mind.

"God, Harry I _wanted_ it," he sighed. "We both did, but I woke up this morning and I just... I felt awfully guilty," Louis explained, pressing at his temples with one hand, clenching the other against the granite surface.

"Why?" Harry asked, terror thrumming through his veins. He could feel his pulse increasing as his brain swarmed will all kinds of ways he could try to console Louis.

"Because I feel like I've... maybe, impressed you to do or _be_ something you aren't," Louis suggested, wincing a bit as the words escaped him.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked lowly, because maybe he was misunderstanding.

"It means... I might be overthinking all of this, but I need you to indulge me for just a moment," Louis sighed softly, picking at his eyebrow. Harry nodded.

"You said a lot of ... things, last night. Um, and while I'm honestly quite flattered, I'm not so sure we're on the same playing field just yet. Which basically means... I don't think it's a good idea for us to be romantically involved. I mean, at least not right now. With everything that's going on,"

Harry mulled over Louis's feelings, curling his bottom lip intuitively. Louis didn't speak again, and after another moment Harry cleared his throat.

"Well, I know things have been crazy. And I know I might have been kind of ... crude about my feelings... but they _are_ genuine. Louis, when I think of you, I feel sane again," Harry spoke gently, devoting all of his mentality to keeping a level head. Louis wouldn't listen to him if he just broke down in another one of his cataclysmic emotional episodes— if anything he'd only use it as another example to refute Harry's current state of mind.

"... I want to share that with you. I think it's good to have someone you can connect with, especially... when everything else seems uncertain. I learned that with the girls; Lauren and Joe especially,"

Louis released an unsteady breath, his gaze frozen to his untouched sandwich. Harry wished he could cup Louis's hand and placate him, tell him not to think so much— that this would be good for them, but even he wasn't so sure. He wanted it, _fuck_ — he'd never wanted _anything_ more in his entire _life_ than to be able to say Louis belonged to him, but he had to take Louis's words to heart. After all, Louis had experienced a lot of heartbreak since he first met Harry and his concepts of love and sex and relationships were a lot different. This was probably just as frightening for him, if not more - and Harry had to find a way to accept and respect that.

"I want us to be together, Lou. I think... I think I've wanted it for a long time," Harry pleaded, folding his hands nervously. It wasn't easy admitting how you felt, exposing your vulnerable layers to any form of rejection.

A beat of silence passed while Louis remained inverted to their exchange. Harry tried not to panic in his lack of speech, not to let his mind dart to all the irrationalities it was prone to because this was new for him. He wasn't keen on love, didn't have any experience when it came to pacifying Louis or getting him to disengage his doubtful mind. He couldn't tell what Louis needed to hear right now and it was a bit discouraging to conceptualize how little he knew about Louis when Louis seemed to know everything about him.

"I just... I don't know, Harry," Louis whispered, his voice shy, blue eyes distant and Harry was willing to exhaust every ounce of being if it meant Louis would return to his winsome and witty personality. He hated that he was the cause for this burden.

"I have a lot of feelings— feelings I myself don't completely understand..."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, taking shallow breaths as he focused on Louis's words.

"I don't want to rush into this with you because I'm not... I'm _not_ _ready_ ," Louis inhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. The older man stared down between them, his eyes closing for a short moment as he regathered his emotional composure. Harry hated seeing his Louis like this.

The younger boy nodded then, deciding it was a valid enough statement. He would be a little disappointed, but he wouldn't jump off the balcony or anything. He could never try to force Louis into anything he didn't want. Louis had never done that to him and while it was probably difficult for him to say no to his temptations he did it anyway because _Louis was a good man_. He made the right choices and he took up other people's responsibilities because someone had to do it and even when it seemed like nothing good would ever come from it he still made sure things were in order because he didn't want to have a half-hazard job on his conscience. And Harry decided in that moment that he needed to be okay with this because Louis deserved that much from him.

"Alright. Could I maybe... ask why?" Harry softly questioned, curious but not wanting to pry too deeply. Louis finally peered up, his eyes glistening with something just short of complete despondency. Harry felt his stomach lurch.

The older man took a deep breath.  
"I think I'm just... hesitant. I love that you're here," Louis continued, running a hand across the top of his hair. "I love seeing you every day and knowing that you want to be here with me. It's just..."

Harry tried to prepare himself for the inevitable end. He tried to tell himself to breathe and to relax because whether he wanted it or not it was going to come and stressing himself out was only going to complicate the grieving process. He tried to see Louis in the same aureate glow, the same beautiful halo that caressed his ornate features and set fires in his eyes. Because he couldn't let any of this change the way he felt. He couldn't let this discourage him because whether or not they had their future today or in twelve years Harry would still love Louis and be forever indebted to him.

"I want to support you, but I don't want you to think I've only been in it because I thought you'd somehow fall for me in the process. I don't want there to be any misunderstandings or obligations between us.

"I want to see you through this all the way... and I'd hate to stand in the way of your freedom—to tie you down again when you're just now getting the chance to explore the world,"

The younger resisted the immediate urge to argue. Louis couldn't stand in the way of his freedom because if anything, he'd opened the gate. It was something Harry was sure he would never have had the courage to try if he didn't have Louis around, introducing him to the simple pleasures of life and gently encouraging him to think for himself. It was one of those experiences that impacted his overall outlook; teaching him how to seek methods of survival in an impossible situation and encouraging him to expand all of his little political inquiries. Sure Louis hadn't given him any motivational speeches on how to take life back, but his own cultures had seeped into Harry's tight resolve, softening him with suggestions and offering a taste of what awaited beyond the prison bars. And sure life would never be perfect, but it was still full of so many new and beautiful things.

"You would not tie me down," Harry retorted, feeling heat rise to his face at the sullen tone of Louis's statement. He didn't want to lose his temper, but he could feel the beat of his pulse quickening as Louis voiced his convictions.

"I don't understand, I thought..."

Harry swallowed down the thickness of the words, hurt and confused but still trying so hard not to show it. He huffed, moving a length of his hair out of his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Louis's face just before dropping his gaze but he already knew it was too late -

"Harry... please, _don't_ ," he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

It took Harry all of thirty seconds to taste bile at the back of his throat for whatever Louis was implying. And Harry couldn't help it because after everything he'd considered — after everything he'd expressed to Louis last night, and after all of the circles they'd run around each other for weeks— he couldn't imagine trying to subdue his feelings anymore. It was telling a butterfly to retract its magnificent wings, suck a deep breath in and force it's fragile yet mystifying physique back into the tight living quarters of a caterpillar. It was an outrageous request, to propose they pretend not to love one another. It was everything about lies and sham and pretense that Harry had run away from.

"I don't understand, I thought this was what you wanted. You said you still wanted me," Harry reminded, desperate for some sort of intelligible explanation. He could never force Louis into anything he didn't want, but he needed _something_. He had to know what they had was genuine, that while maybe Louis wasn't ready to be in a relationship that he would eventually, or at least that he wasn't lying when he'd said it.

"I know what I said, Harry. And I meant it, but I just can't," Louis's voice broke slightly, and he paused for a moment before collecting himself. Harry's heart was breaking.

"It hurts me so much, Harry. I feel like I can't breathe when I look at you. And... and when you said those words... I felt like I was going to lose my mind,"

Harry chewed his bottom lip, scratching anxiously at his arm. He wanted to feel elated, wanted to believe him, wanted to savor the warmth fluttering in his chest, but it wasn't nearly enough to soothe the ache from Louis's first statement.

"It's just too much, sometimes. I can't keep _touching_ you when you're not _mine_ ,"

"Louis, I _want_ to be yours. I know it took me a while to figure it out, but... I'm here now and I _love_ you and I honestly can't think of anything I want more than to be with you," Harry promised, reaching forward and covering Louis's hands with his own. Louis held his gaze for a long moment, releasing a soft exhale as he pondered Harry's proclamation. The moment hung heavily between them.

"... forgive me, it's ... it's just so hard to believe you," Louis apologized, gently pulling his hands away. Harry's face fell, his throat constricting at the threat of losing his one and only. He knew he had to say something to convince Louis he was serious, that whatever it took he'd be willing to spend it for the sake of Louis's assent. He had been foolish to think it would be this simple between them - and something bitter in the back of his mind already knew why.

But rather than elaborate on that open-ended statement, Louis averted his eyes from Harry's devastated expression and gathered his next ploy at deflection.

"We need to focus on other things right now. Like healing, how we can assist the investigation, or what the next steps are in this journey," Louis's words were steady but his voice trembled. Those eyes told Harry everything - exposed all of the older man's boundaries, his secrets, fears. Louis was terrified right now and Harry would be daft to assume it was merely because his feelings were unrequited.

"I don't want to lose you because we rushed into things before we were in the right mindset. And it really wouldn't be logical, trying to start something neither one of us are mentally prepared for simply because it's convenient,"

This was something more, something so much deeper than just rejection and for some reason it hurt even worse. Because now, it was no longer something Harry had experience in. It was no longer friendly airspace and Harry was abandoned, lost seeking answers in a toxic void while Louis slowly but surely withdrew his presence. Harry was sure this would be the first step in their inevitable suspension.

"Louis, it was very difficult for me to... to even admit the way I feel about you. And it seems like you've invalidated my feelings with no regard to how any of the circumstances have _actually_ affected me," Harry protested, his eyes flashing with all the emotion he'd concealed for the entirety of this conversation.

"That's not what I'm... Harry-"

"I don't _want_ to keep fucking with your feelings. I know I've been making things difficult for you, but we both want it now and it doesn't feel right to pretend we don't," the boy argued.

Louis drew in a long, exacerbated breath.  
"Harry, _please_. It's not that simple. I want to be with you, alright? Just... not now,"

"But why? I don't understand, last night was... _amazing_. Don't you want that with me; to be able to touch me without feeling guilty because you know I want it too? Don't you... don't you love me?" Harry bit his lip, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer to that last one. Because he was well aware of the fact that Louis hadn't returned his sentiments last night, hadn't given him the satiating ' _I love you too_ ' he'd anticipated before they nodded off to sleep.

And it wasn't like he expected Louis to just say it because he'd said it first, he didn't assume that was the way things would play out, but he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of disheartenment when he thought about it. Louis had said he wanted him, but had he only meant it physically? Maybe Louis just wanted Harry's body, not his heart. Perhaps after everything he dragged Louis into the older man decided it was too much of a headache to be involved with someone of his background.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to go back to the way things were with Louis before all the feelings tore loose, when they used to touch and kiss and gasp like insatiable teenagers beneath the sheets because they were just playing lovers without the four letter word. The memory left a bitter taste under Harry's tongue.

Louis didn't speak for a long moment, his mouth pulled taut with unspoken sentiments. Harry couldn't take it - he laughed dryly, eyes burning with absolute hysteria.

"Or were you just trying to make me feel less shitty about sleeping with you before?" Harry spat, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He knew with confidence (in a currently inactive part of his brain) that Louis would _never_ go back on his word, that he'd never even _think_ to abandon Harry and that it was fucked up for him to accuse Louis of breaking his promise in the heat of an argument.

"Don't you _dare_. You know exactly how I feel about you," Louis shot back, straightening his spine.

"Then why don't you just admit it!" Harry begged, willing the emotion in his eyes not to betray him. He could feel himself losing control, the determination seeping from the cracks in his body and all at once he resorted to a heap of boneless matter. He hated feeling like he was the only one giving anything. Here he was, naked, helpless and losing the game.

"Because I'm ... I'm scared, okay?!" Louis answered tersely, an amalgamation of hurt and frustration crashing over his features all at once. He stood and turned his back to the boy, paced the kitchen for a minute before dropping his head in his hands.  
"... _fuck_ ," he breathed.

Harry still wasn't satisfied.  
"Scared of what?" he asked, baffled.

" _You_ , okay? I'm scared of _you_ ,"

Harry parted his lips as soon as the words left the older man but unfortunately didn't get the chance to reply. Just then, the shrill of Louis's mobile ringtone echoed throughout the apartment, disturbing their amiable exchange.

Harry huffed bitterly as Louis quickly exited the kitchen. He took an angry bite of his sandwich, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

 _Scared_? Of _him_? It was absurd. If it were true Louis would have sent him away a long time ago. Louis wouldn't have ever tried to approach Harry or involve himself in the boy's life if he felt unsafe.

Even so, Harry felt to blame for it - and it wasn't even founded in the disappointment that he and Louis wouldn't have their happily ever after in the manner he anticipated. A rueful fog just hovered him, smothering every single of his once innocent thoughts about Louis—which were unsurprisingly the only thoughts he was capable of having right now. He hadn't meant for things to get so complicated, had kind of wished Louis would just go along with it, be happy and accept his love without scrutinizing his motives.

But he should have known Louis would be skeptical. After all Louis had done for him, Harry had only inflicted pain in return. It was so wrong of him and ever the advocate for justice Harry was, he went on using and abusing the man he loved in the same manner without even realizing. He was such a hypocrite.

And Harry knew it was selfish to even think it, but he already missed Louis's mouth. He would miss the way Louis's gentle fingers burned as they skated across his needy skin, the way Louis would look at him with the night in his eyes and the kiss of a harlot on his lips. He would miss Louis's body, Louis's soul, his passion.

Because fuck, this is what would happen, wouldn't it? It wouldn't be heartbreak or rejection but much worse - the truth, the unutterable fact that Harry did not deserve Louis. That man had a heart of gold and Harry's heart was salvaged of ash. Once again, the younger man was reminded that falling in love with an angel was destined to end in disaster, similarly of an angel falling in love with a prostitute. He and Louis couldn't be more divergent and while Harry liked to think that opposites attract what if above everything Louis had been _right_ -

What if Harry couldn't even tell the difference between what he _wanted_ and what he _wanted to want_? What if Harry craved compatibility with Louis so badly that he imprinted on Louis, told himself that the only way mankind would show him compassion was if the he and Louis were destined to be together, like soulmates or some shit. Maybe Harry was so twisted up inside that he actually was following idealism instead of his own inhibition.

Harry's stomach ached. He tossed the crusts of his sandwich back on the paper plate. There were so many different ways to conceptualize this and he'd mulled over nearly every possibility in his mind at least three billion times in the past few minutes. He knew it was probable that there had been some damage done to his mental state after so many years of Liam's psychological abuse. So perhaps Louis _was_ right _—_

"Harry!" Louis frantically returned to the kitchen, yanking his coat back on over his shoulders. Harry tossed his paper plate into the trash bin, brows knitting together at Louis's disquietude.

"What?" Harry demanded as the older man flicked off the television, grappling his wallet from the counter.

"There was a fire," the older man said, mirthlessly.

Everything froze in that moment. The world ceased to turn on its axis and Harry nearly forgot how to breathe. In an instant, all else became virtually obsolete. He was once again honing in on the only thing that seemed to matter - the girls. And Harry found himself wondering when it would end - when the pain and they fear and the anxieties would cease to devour every portion of him. Sometimes he wished he could just relax, fall into Louis's arms and forget the world, but as long as Liam was out there, their world wouldn't be safe.

Without another word the two of them made their way to the front door, Harry lacing up his boots and wrapping a black woolen scarf around his throat. The last thing he needed was to catch influenza in the heat of this anarchic misadventure.

Harry turned the lights off, Louis grabbed the keys to his car and they left the apartment along with everything else they still had to resolve. 

~ ❁ ~

The emergency room was absolutely chaotic; a chilling atmospheric haze of hastened doctors, crying babies with fevers, incomprehensible commands from the nursing staff and the jumbled overlying crescendo and decrescendo of those frantic voices still seeking medical attention in the designated waiting area. Harry's heart was lodged in his throat, his hands clamming by his sides as he followed Louis into the building.

"Good, you're here. None of the girls are saying anything about the fire. We're not sure who started it, but we have some theories," Detective Morris greeted them in the waiting room, skipping the fruitless formalities. Louis nodded in understanding as Harry shucked his coat off his shoulders and down his arms, handing it to the man before making his way into the room. The girls sat in the farthest corner from the other patients, matching fretful expressions on each and every one of them. Lauren had her face tucked into Mariana's chest, her unruly brown hair sticking to her cheeks as she wailed.

Harry's heart sank in his chest at the sight of her and his immediate instinct was to ask - where was the baby?

"Where is she?" Harry blurted, feeling remorseful about breaking the silence of the girls. They were very obviously traumatized by the events of the day and the last thing he intended was to upset them further.

Sandra sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes staring aimlessly into space. Mariana carded a hand through Lauren's hair, down across her back as she whispered comforts to the child.

"Joe got burned pretty bad... went back in to get little Harrie from her nap. The bastard didn't even spare a glance in her direction - " Sandra muttered, clutching the collar of her t-shirt. It seemed the girls hadn't had any notice that the house was engulfed in flames and bolted to the streets without proper winter attire.

Lauren only cried harder, precious pale features twisting in anguish, hot tears streaking down her innocent cheeks. The girl had known so much needless misery in her terse fifteen years. It was unbelievable how she was still so strong, so willing to do the right thing after what she and the rest of them had endured. Harry's heart tightened in his chest — so Joe had run back inside the burning building to save their daughter and Lauren had just had to stand in the arms of Mariana no doubt, waiting in fickle hopes for the girl to return.

"Is she... did she ...?" Harry reverently wondered, directing his attention to Sandra under the tumultuous ramblings of Louis and the Detective.

"Yeah, she did. But she's back there. Something about smoke in her lungs," The older girl explained, soothing the pads of her fingers into her temples. Liza gnawed at her fingernails beside her, knees pulled up to her chest on the couch. Harry rested his hand on Lauren's thigh in silent support, biting his bottom lip in concern.

Louis finished speaking to Detective Morris, giving her an affirmative nod before rounding the couches and finding a seat beside Harry. The younger boy gave him a lame smile, hoping to transfer his thoughts telepathically. He wasn't sure it was possible to voice the pain in his soul, to verbalize the palpations in his chest for these girls and whatever tortures they had experienced since his departure from the house. He felt guilty for leaving them to brave it alone, for any part of himself relinquishing his responsibility in trust that the police would take care of things.

Detective Morris answered a phone call, excusing herself to the hallway. Louis tossed his coat onto Harry's, draping them both across the back of the chair before settling in.

"Who's he?" Sandra asked a moment, searching for a distraction from the ailments of the afternoon.

"Oh um, he's Louis. He's a friend I've been living with for a few days."  Harry said, gesturing to the man beside him. Louis only offered a small smile, no doubt unsettled by their untimely acquaintance. Harry had explained to him the extent of the abuse they suffered and probably didn't know how to talk with them just yet. It had taken the man months to properly communicate with Harry, convince the boy to open up about what had happened to him.

"Uh, this is Sandra. That's Liza," Harry pointed out, figuring it was important Louis learn the names of each girl individually. Liza timidly glared up in his direction before turning her eyes back toward the floor.

"Lauren, and Mariana. Joe is back with the doctors, they're checking out her burns. I'm assuming little Harrie is with her as well," Harry glanced over at Sandra, who confirmed his presumption. Louis nodded, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Detective Morris explained what she knows to me," He began softly, opening up a text to Officer Lucas. Intrigued by the promise of more pertinent information, Harry tuned his attention onto the older man.

"Apparently, the fire was started somewhere around the west side of the house. The police got the call from a house across the street. They showed up sometime around three, but neither Liam nor Niall were present at the scene. Morris said it was likely something careless, perhaps an ashtray caught on a curtain, but if you ask me it sounds pretty orchestrated. Especially considering Liam and Niall were nowhere to be found in the aftermath - and I highly doubt that the girls would burn the house down around themselves, so," Louis spoke hushed, not wanting to upset the other girls by involving himself in the analysis of what had occurred. Harry nodded pensively, pursing his lips.

"I don't disagree with that theory. I mean, Liam was probably really angry at what Keshia and I did. Maybe he got paranoid once we disappeared, somehow guessed we would report him to the police and decided to destroy essentially the only evidence we had," Harry muttered, picking at his cuticles. He wanted to get his nails done this weekend. It sure would help get his mind off the madness.

"Stanley is saying a group home just a few miles past Glenolden have agreed to take them for the remainder of the investigation. They'll get three square meals a day, their own rooms and as much time as they need to recuperate," Louis said, retinas glimmering in the glow of his phone screen.

"That sounds pretty good," Harry processed the details, wondering if maybe he should go live with them as well. It would only be fair. He still had some time to figure out where he'd be staying for the next few weeks so rather that stressing out over it in the midst of everything else he decidedly filed it for later.

"Do you think they'll want to put Keshia there as well?" Louis thought for a moment before starting a new text to his friend, fingers typing carefully across the digital keys.

"I doubt it. They'll probably figure that if she's safe where she is there's no need to move her around," Louis considered after sending the message, rubbing his hand along the circumference of his neck.

"Yeah, maybe," Harry agreed, leaning his head against Louis's shoulder to better see Stan's responding message.

' _We'll need to keep Keshia out of the picture for as long as this Liam character is MIA. She's already been questioned and unless something else comes up her presence is no longer needed in the investigation. The next move is figuring out where her mother and/or father is, contacting one or both of them and getting her home safely. My guess is that Detective Morris won't want her moved, to answer your question_ ,'

He noticed out of the corner of his eye, Sandra staring at the two of them, taking in their cramped positioning.

"Okay," Harry breathed after reading the message, shifting to sit upright. The last thing he wanted was for any of the girls to have more reasons to loathe him and if there was even a hint of suspicion pertaining to his relationship with Louis they would certainly let him know what they thought of it.

Louis sent a few more texts to Stan concerning other aspects of the investigation but Harry decided to drift out of the conversation. About another twenty minutes passed before a nurse made her way into the waiting area, carrying a clip board in her hands. Lauren sat up immediately at the promise of information, her blue eyes bloodshot, cheeks unbelievably ruddy and tear stained.

"Ms. Cardona is going to be fine. We've moved her out of the ICU. The skin along her back is pretty puffy, but it's all first degree and shouldn't take more than a couple weeks to completely heal. Your baby, Harrietta, is doing well. We'd like to keep her overnight to monitor her breathing. You're welcome to stay in the room with her," The nurse gently explained to the young girl, her eyes burdened with the weight of this situation. Perhaps she had a daughter around Lauren's age, playing high school softball, reading ninth grade literature, dress shopping for winter formal. It was a crude awakening to see this girl lose everything and even still, continue to suffer.

"Yes, may I see them?" Lauren stood from Mariana's embrace without prelude, wiping at her face and straightening out her top. Harry watched as the girl bolted from the room, the nurse guiding her into the back.

Detective Morris then reentered the room. She approached the two men and Harry looked up at her slowly, anticipating whatever she had to say.

"We'd like to get these girls to the group home. They've been through enough craziness today. From what I've been told they've already been examined. I am aware three of them are staying here this evening and have arranged for someone to pick them up in the morning," She spoke with clarity, her stern gaze softening at the sight of the victims. Detective Morris's phone vibrated and she glanced down to the screen, eyes moving as she read the text message.

"Alright, there's a van outside waiting to take you to a group home just a few miles southwest. Three girls are staying here tonight, but the plan is for them to join the rest of you in the morning," The detective announced to the tight group of girls, keeping her tone heartbreakingly steady.

"Why are we leaving?" Liza whispered to Mariana, frantic eyes darting from her over to Harry. Sandra eyed the woman distrustfully, nipping her lower lip.

"I don't know," Mariana answered, but as Detective Morris began to usher them forward, they stood obediently, albeit hesitantly.

"It's just basically a safe place for you to live. A temporary home," Harry explained to them as he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and stood, handing his coat to Liza. The girl glared at him for a moment, unsure of whether or not she should take it. He gestured more forcefully and she finally accepted his offer, graciously slipping her arms through the sleeves.

Sandra still didn't rise, her shoulders tensed with skepticism. Detective Morris gathered Mariana and Liza solicitously and navigated them towards the door, not wanting to spook their quivering bodies. Harry knew it would take a bit before they learned to trust people again. It would most definitely take him some time.

"Sandra please, it's just until they find Liam. They don't want you guys to be in danger," Harry informed the unmoving girl, hoping to convey the importance of her cooperation.

"Are you coming too?" She wondered, a hint of something accusatory coloring her tone. Sandra glanced between Harry and Louis, arching an inquisitive brow.

Harry knew what she was getting at. It didn't seem right for them to have to go to this strange home for refugees and throwaways while he lived with his ' _boyfriend_ '. And while Louis wasn't his boyfriend (and perhaps never would be) Harry did understand the unfairness of the circumstances. If he had it his way the girls would come and stay with he and Louis, but it wasn't his home to offer and he was pretty certain Louis wouldn't feel comfortable with all of these strangers in his home, putting himself and his belongings at risk. And would it be so bad to get away from Louis for a couple days? Things were awkward at home, the events of the day still plaguing his mind and in the heat of the moment, leaving presented itself as the perfect solution.

"Um... yeah, actually," Harry replied before he could properly weigh the outcomes. Sandra curled her upper lip in surprise.

The boy turned to Louis, the older man's expression slowly sinking in dismay. The man started to stand, but Harry gave him a pleading look, silently begging him not to protest this rash decision. He was well aware he had acted without thinking, but now that he was considering his options it didn't seem so awful after all. Maybe it wasn't ideal, but it was for the best, through and through.

"Come on. I'll go if you go," Harry smirked, holding his hand out to help the girl stand. Sandra huffed to herself, refusing his gesture but pushing to her feet regardless.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing harshly in repulsion but he chose not to comment on her insolence. They were all in bad, unpredictable moods in response to the hectic and harrowing stimuli of the past week. He had to let it go, to once more learn to retaliate to these people because they were the only ones who would ever understand what he'd been through. This was how he was meant to be used, how he was supposed to help: by staying out of the way, talking to his fellow victims, comforting one another in the same manner they always had. The thought was utterly depressing.

He turned to Louis, the older man gradually standing. The waiting room still buzzed with patients and staff, but the aura of insistence had greatly diminished. Harry felt free to breathe now, scratching his nails against the back of his neck.

"So... you're not coming home?" Louis asked, his brow creasing in confusion. The sound of that word — _home_ , made it sound like Louis was considering his short-lived dwelling with Harry to contain some semblance of normality; that home wouldn't be home unless Harry was around. It broke the younger boy to hear Louis say that because it was everything he had fantasized in the afterglow of this morning. Once again, so many things had altered in just a brief twenty-four hours. Harry watched the patterns of the hospital floor between their crestfallen forms, unable to make contact eyes with his angel.

"I guess not," he shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

"Is this about what I said earlier? Because I didn't mean I didn't want you around. I just... I need time, _Harry_ —"

"– It's not- not about earlier," Harry interrupted, daring to gaze into those beautiful blues. They made everything so much more intense, riddled every last one of his choices with emotional riposte.

"You were right, Lou. I think... I need to be with my girls right now. We've got a lot to talk about and... hopefully we'll be able to work through some of these feelings together," Harry nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed against it. Standing there in front of the man he loved - no matter how new and fainthearted that love might be - and telling him they had to part ways for _even a moment_ was extremely difficult. His chest ached when he looked at Louis, saw the guilt in his features as if he, once again, was willing to accept the responsibility for all the sins in the world.

"We've still got to finish our discussion. Call me, okay?" Louis spoke, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his pants. He awkwardly snatched them out a moment later to retrieve his windbreaker from the back of the waiting room chair, handing it to the boy. Harry took it with a small smile, cradling it to his chest for a moment before slipping it on, zipping it up. He wondered if maybe he should try to hug Louis—

"Styles!" Sandra called from the entrance to the corridor, her voice sharpened with impatience.

"Bye, Louis," Harry hastily turned, following the girl's voice to the entrance of the emergency facilities. He told himself he wouldn't cry as he moved through the sliding glass doors because it honestly wasn't _that_ big of a deal - he wasn't going to war and he knew he'd probably be in contact with Louis within the next couple days.

But all in all he couldn't help but feel like this was the end of an era, the inevitable suspension he'd referenced earlier. He knew after tonight things would never be the same between he and Louis. And regardless of whether or not it was for the best, the boy was still saddened to lose his sense of sanity.

~ ❁ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey you! if you're patiently awaiting a rent boy update and are interested in smutty larry crime au's featuring a vivacious heroin addict and call boy harry, a seasoned identity thief louis and lots of twisted emotional chaos, you should check out my new fic, [troublemakers](https://www.wattpad.com/294831705). i've posted it on wattpad but i plan to upload it here in the next few weeks as well. thanks so much for all the support ! i look forward to seeing you all there :)
> 
> ❤️


	34. t h i r t y t h r e e

 

~ ❁ ~

The first twenty four hours at the group home were uncomfortable. All of the girls were mentally exhausted and irritable, but most inverted in the aftermath of the fire. The group home administrators were polite and friendly. Sam, the RA and counselor, helped Mari, Liza and Sandra settle into their rooms. Because it was a home for girls, Harry had to room alone in a tiny singlet on the first floor. Not that he minded. The privacy would be nice.

He slept until noon the following day. The girls weren't very active; most of them spent the day sleeping. Harry started to feel hungry some time around noon and wandered into the kitchen, where Sam offered to make him a tuna fish salad. He'd never had one before and hesitantly agreed. He ate in the dining room, keeping his eyes low as two young girls from the group home whispered under their breath.

He took a hot shower in the bathroom downstairs and then got dressed in the sweats provided by the home. He thought about calling Louis, but decided against it. He didn't want the man to think he couldn't go a few days without him. Harry found himself wondering when he became so emotionally dependent on Louis.

The next day Lauren and Joe joined them. Joe was still moving slow, considering the second degree burns on her arms and legs, and spend most of the day resting while Lauren tended to baby Harrie. Sam had given the others a day to recuperate and decided to save their debriefing until tomorrow.

Around noon, Harry wrapped himself up in Louis's jacket and wandered up the stairs to see the others. At breakfast, Sam had explained that Detective Morris and the PAPD would be coming in to take statements tomorrow evening. They were in the process of building a case and charges were still to be determined.

Harry wanted to talk to them to see how they were doing after the fire, physically and emotionally, but he also wanted to make sure they were prepared to make statements. He knew how difficult it was to talk to a complete stranger about his trauma. It was also pertinent that they recall and include any details that might aid the investigation. He wanted justice, and imagined the other girls did as well.

He knocked on Mari's door and Sandra opened it, giving him a dirty look.

"Can I come in?" he asked, bypassing her glare to make eye contact with Mariana, who sat with her phone on the bed on the far side of the room.

"Sure, H. Hey, mind getting Liza? We should probably talk," she chewed her lip. Sandra shouldered past Harry and walked down the hall to Liza's room.

"What's up," Harry sat on the bed beside Mari, rubbing his shoulder.

"Nothin'. Been anxious. Looking over my shoulder like Liam's gonna be there," she shrugged. Harry smirked. He'd felt the same way the first time he realized he was free.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Not sure if that'll ever go away," he mumbled, trailing a hand over the wrinkled bedspread.

"How have you been? I didn't get to ask you the other night. Shit was so crazy,"

"Good, I guess. I've been more worried about you guys than anything else," he began, looking to the older girl.

"I mean... I felt so bad about leaving you guys there, but I just. I couldn't. I couldn't do it again, you know? I had to go, I had to get Keshia away," he rambled, so many feelings bubbling up inside of him at once.

"Hey," Mari shook her head, resting her hand on his knee.

"It's okay. I'm pretty sure if you hadn't had the balls the go like you did - we'd all still be there now. Some of these girls don't know what's good for them, right? Don't let anybody make you feel like shit for doing what you had to to take care of yourself,"

Harry looked at her, his chest filling with warmth from her words. He missed Mariana. He missed Lauren and Ira and he even missed Joe. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he was with the girls he used to fully rely on. He wanted to tell Mari how much he missed her and just how happy he was that they were finally free, but as he parted his lips to speak Sandra reemerged with Liza following closely behind.

"Hi Harry," Liza murmured, pulling the sleeves of her shirt over her hands.

"Hey," he smiled wistfully.

"Do you have any news on Keshia? I never got to say goodbye," Harry frowned. He totally forgot about the girls' friendship. He wished he had gotten the number for Keshia's foster home or something. They had gone through a lot together and supported one another; it was important to keep in touch.

"Well, I took her to Louis's right after it happened. We stayed there together a few days, but Officer Lucas and Detective Morris said it would be best if they place her back in foster care, you know, for a little while. With good people, they swore. They were concerned Liam might show up to the apartment and try to take her back. Officer Lucas couldn't look out for us twenty-four seven, so I guess it was our safest bet. Morris has her foster information. I could ask if she has a number you can call when she comes around tonight?" he offered.

"Yeah, okay. That'd be cool. Thanks," she smiled, sitting down on the end of Sandra's unmade bed.

"What happened after I left?" Harry turned back to Mariana. He knew their stories weren't going to be the same.

"Well, nothing too out of ordinary. We worked, but —," Mari started.

"Liam had us all working extra to cover for your ass," Sandra huffed, her brows pushing together as Mariana gave her a look.

"Listen, it wasn't just to cover for you. Yeah, you were his top earner, but like. I don't know exactly, but I think he owed somebody money," Mariana lowered her voice, as if Liam were still near and still listening.

"Maybe, 'cause I heard him talking to Niall a few weeks back. I know he was expecting to make a lot of money from Keshia," Harry explained, cracking his knuckles.

He didn't know what Liam was cooking up then and he didn't know what Liam was up to now. He didn't know where he was or what he would do next. The uncertainty was the worst part about any of this. All they ever had were bits and pieces of the whole picture, the tip of the iceberg, as they say.

"We had to bring in twice as much and if one of us couldn't pull our weight he threatened to punish us," Sandra said, rubbing her forehead.

"No one actually did, though. I guess," Mari cut in, just to clarify. Sandra pursed her lip.

"I don't know about you, but I was drained. I was exhausted and pissed off and I wanted to beat somebody's ass,"

Mariana laughed at the older girl's statement, Harry chuckling as well. At times he was almost afraid of Sandra - not only was she older, but she was a powerhouse mentally and emotionally. She was hardly ever wrong. Also, she was fueled by the passing of her closest friend in the house, Ira. She had every right to be pissed off.

"Not going to lie, Harry, I really wanted to kill you after I found out that you got away. Only because I knew what it would mean for the rest of us,"

"But," Liza interrupted, "If you hadn't left, Liam wouldn't have flipped shit and burned the house down. That's what we all believe happened, right?"

"Yeah, fuck that accident bullshit – the fire was planned. We were all inside for the night, but he and Niall were somehow gone? That's never happened before. Or else we would've gotten away a long time ago. He wanted to kill us before we could snitch," Sandra added.

"It's crazy you all got out alive. That's— wow," Harry breathed, astounded. He sometimes underestimated the girl's and their ability to get a long and look out for one another. There was a fight going on practically every day because of backtalk or stealing or general exhaustion, but deep down they all cared for each other. No one was left behind.

In that respect, Harry was going to miss the bond between them when they all split up and went their separate ways, to reunite with family or find a new life and job.

"Fuck. I guess it is," Mariana nodded.

"So how did you meet your boyfriend?" Liza came to sit next to him on Mari's bed, tucking her legs up toward her chest.

"Yeah, how did you meet your  _boyfriend_ , Harry?" Mariana cooed, nudging his shoulder.

"Sorry to disappoint, but he's not my boyfriend," he bit back a smile. The memories of yesterday came flooding back and the smile eased from his face.  _Louis didn't want him_.

"What are you talking about? Aren't you wearing his jacket, like, right now?" Mari hit Liza's thigh before the two of them burst out in a fit of giggles. Harry laughed with them, but shook his head once they settled down. Sandra watched on from the other side of the room, looking thoroughly unamused.

"Well, I met him at the club. He invested a lot into me. He bought dances just so he could like, talk to me. The first night we properly met, I could tell he was really into me, so I cheated him. I brought Liam to his flat and made him think he needed to pay for the sex. He was terrified and I felt so guilty, but then he practically swamped the raffle so he could make sure we saw each other again. Or maybe it was fate that his number was drawn," Mariana and Liza cooed, Mari pinching his dimple and Liza cackling loudly. Sandra rolled her eyes. Harry shrugged.

"Whatever, so we settled that I was a no good piece of shit and he was an actual angel. Fast forward a few months. Mari here starts helping me save up so I can go visit him. Eventually Louis told me he was like, basically in love with me since he first saw me and that he spent a couple years trying to work up the courage to talk. So we tried to go on a date, but ... I don't know. It just felt wrong of me to try to find someone while I was still chained to Liam. We decided yesterday, the most important thing is dealing with what's happened and recovering. Dating can wait, I guess. And he's never been wrong, so," Harry shrugged, running his hand down the arm of Louis's jacket.

"So he was your secret boyfriend all this time?" Liza asked, wide eyed. Harry sighed.

"We're just friends, Liz,"

"Okay but, saying you're 'just friends' doesn't somehow just delete all the feelings you two have for each other. You still love him," Mariana smirked.

"I mean... yeah," Harry blushed, squirming as Mari pinched his side.

" _See_ ," Liza grinned. Sandra sighed.

~ ❁ ~

The next day in the kitchen, Sandra and Mariana had an argument about the last can of soda, which Sam resolved by retrieving two cups from the cupboard and splitting the beverage evenly between them.

Harry bypassed the commotion to eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the back patio. He stayed out there for a while after he'd finished eating; the birds were chirping where they sat on the edge of the bird bath, the sky was cloudless and the air was pleasantly cool. But he couldn't wait for spring.

Detective Morris brought the girls to the station one by one to take their statements. Mariana was hesitant to go with them at first, seeing as they were cops, and for much of her life she was taught to avoid the police, but Morris assured them that they were only going in to tell their story and that they wouldn't be forced to do or say anything they weren't comfortable with. Harry curled his arm around Mariana and told her that they were not the ones on trial and that it was going to get better after this.

Sandra came back from the station and disappeared into her room. Liza came back sobbing, and ran straight to Mariana's arms for a hug. The girls had pent up strong feelings as a result of the trauma they'd endured. Yesterday it was easy to laugh and talk about the past and the future in theory, but when it came down to remembering and reliving the rape and the beatings and the death of the last few years — it was a lot.

Harry offered comfort and a shoulder to cry on where he could, but most of them wanted to be alone after dinner so he respected their wishes. He knew this was a difficult process and that everyone had their own way of coming to terms with everything. He feared freedom wouldn't be as easy to accept as any of them thought.

When all the girls had trickled off to their rooms, Harry found himself doing the same. He flopped onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach. It took approximately a quarter of a second for his thoughts to drift back to Louis.

And at this point – Harry decided he didn't care if it made him look pathetic and codependent. It had been three long days and he missed Louis. Talking about the older man yesterday had helped some, but it also reminded Harry how much he loved the older man and wanted to be around him just to talk about their days or plan when they would get to meet up again.

Now as he laid in his bunk all he could think about was Louis and Louis's warm scent that clung to his oversized jacket and Louis's feathery brown hair and Louis's gentle hands, curling around his arms when he got too riled up and that soft voice soothing comforts, bringing him back down to reality when everything became too much.

Mariana's words had hit too close to home — he wasn't going to abandon his feelings for Louis or forget the beautiful things the man had done for him simply because they decided to stay friends for now. He would always love Louis. He would always need Louis to rescue him, even if he were no longer in chains.

Harry crept out of his room as quietly as possible and went to the hallway phone. He dialed Louis's number by memory and brought the phone to his ear, already twining nervous fingers around the chord attached to the wall.

 _What it he was asleep already?_  
_Maybe he was showering_  
_or eating dinner_ _..._  
_What if he was busy and didn't pick up –_

"Hello?" the man's voice bled through the speaker and all the tension immediately flowed from Harry's body.

"Hi, Louis. Um, it's Harry," he spoke gently, not to disturb the other members of the house.

"Harry," Louis breathed, sitting up. "How are you? How are the others?"

Harry smiled at Louis's enthusiasm.   
"Everyone is alright ... for now, I guess. I don't think it's really settled in yet, that they're free, you know? And they just gave statements a little while ago, so they're all thinking about Liam and the things he did. I know there's a lot of grief we've got to work through. Sam says that's what group therapy is gonna be for,"

It wasn't that Harry didn't believe therapy could be helpful, and he'd been through the process before, but under very different circumstances. Of course there was some skepticism. He knew none of the girls had healthy methods of coping with the pain. That's why they fought so often in the house. Liam and Niall were the ones to blame yet they constantly projected their frustrations onto one another.

"That sounds promising, at least. How's the food? Are you eating?" Louis asked, making Harry chuckle.

"Yes,  _mother_ ," Louis laughed.

" _Listen_ , I'm just looking out for you. I don't know what kind of budget they have. They could very well be feeding you gruel and lima beans,"

"It's not like that– I mean, it's nothing in comparison to your cooking, but-" Harry was not above shameless flattery. Louis choked.

"What, you mean eating noodles and tomato sauce every night? I hate to break it to you, Love, but it doesn't take a gourmet chef to boil a pot of water,"

"Shut up, and take the damn compliment will you? I'm trying to be  _nice_ ," he groaned.

"I know, I know... but you'd let me get away with anything," Louis said. Harry wanted to protest it - that no amount of compliments would be enough to make up for the agony he brought on the older man.

"Maybe I just miss you," Harry shrugged, a little nervous to hear Louis's reply. They never finished talking the other night, but Harry was pretty sure right now they weren't going to be loving each other openly. Maybe telling Louis he missed him wasn't right for a platonic relationship.

"I miss you too," Louis said after a beat. Harry rubbed his neck as silence grew.

"When do you think ... I'll get to see you?" he wondered, sliding his fingers through his knotted hair.

"Maybe tomorrow,"

"Were you planning to visit?" Harry frowned. Perhaps he should've called the man sooner.

"Something like that," Louis suggested.

Harry smiled, looking up and down the hallway. "I see... so how was work?"

"Work was... hm. Work was – work,"

"Wow, yes, breathtaking description," Harry teased, fighting back the smile.

"Well you don't care much about typing spreadsheets and doing tax returns, or am I mistaken?" Louis defended.

"Of course not, but I care about your day. I care about you... and I want to listen to something other than the agonized cries of my roommates," Harry explained. He loved the girls, but he loved Louis more.

Louis huffed a laugh, the speaker crackling with his breath.

"I appreciate that, but... it's kinda late, H. You should get some rest. I'll tell you all about my exciting job tomorrow,"

Harry pouted slightly; he knew the older man was right, though - it was nearly eleven.

"I probably should," he sighed, hating Louis's practicality.

"Don't worry about me, alright? Focus on your girls. And yourself. I'll see you soon,"

"Get some sleep, Lou. You work too hard," Harry said, because he knew that was probably the reason the older man was still up. And he still felt bad about holding Louis up for the past week. It couldn't have been easy to juggle detective work and Harry's care with his personal life. Harry was becoming more and more desperate for a way to make it up to him.

"Thanks, Babe. You too," he could hear the smile in Louis's voice. He wished there was something more he could say; it felt like the unspoken ' _I_   _love_   _you_ ' lingered too heavily in the air between them.

"Goodnight, Lou," Harry sighed, not wanting to push the bill.

"Nighty night, Love," 

~ ❁ ~

"Can you tell me what kind of things made you feel powerless in the home?" Sam started, adjusting her brown frames on the bridge of her nose. Harry shifted in his cold metal chair, running a hand down is bicep. Mariana braided Liza's hair, the younger girl sitting on the carpet between her thighs. Sandra cleared her throat, tracing a finger over her left brow.

"I think maybe... not being able to leave. Um, not really getting to go shopping or eat at restaurants like we used to. Like, unless he was with us. We weren't allowed to wear certain things. We weren't allowed to keep any of the money. Shit like that," Mariana said, her fingers working gently and slowly over the pleats in Liza's hair. Harry nodded in agreement, biting his thumbnail.

"Okay, and how did that affect you personally? How did it make you feel when you couldn't leave or voice your opinions?"

"Angry. Like, frustrated. So frustrated sometimes I would just cry and I didn't know why exactly. It was just a constant thing, I guess. Like... it's still so hard to explain," Mari shared, keeping her eyes on her work. Sam hummed, looking then to Sandra.

"How about you, Sandra?" she offered a gentle smile. Harry knew Sandra's thoughts on group therapy. Not only did she think talking about her feelings was stupid, but she was terrified of revealing her true pain. They all knew Sam wouldn't force her; she hadn't forced Liza to share. Knowing that made this a lot easier.

"I don't know. She pretty much said it all," the older girl said, folding her arms over her chest.

"But how did you personally respond to being 'trapped'?" Sam smoothed her hands together. There was a pause, long enough that all three of them looked up to assess the situation. Sandra sighed loudly.

"I don't know... after a while I just stopped feeling altogether. I stopped being angry with Liam for taking my life away from me. I stopped being angry with myself for letting him. I knew my actions would have consequences, so I just did what I was supposed to do, I didn't think about it. Ira did the same," she said anxiously, rubbing her fingers through her hair. Harry looked over at her. She shot him a glare. He looked at the floor.

"Ira... she was your friend, right?"

"I guess," Sandra answered tightly. Sam simply nodded, then turned to him.

"How about you, Harry?"

"'Sorry, what was the question again?" he inhaled, shaking himself from his chilling thoughts about the dead girl. Harry didn't even notice the added presence in the room.

"Hey," Lauren whispered, just before Sam could reply, her hand hovering on the back of his neck.

"Hi - how are you?" He peered up, touching the girl's elbow through her sweater. Baby Harrie sat on her hip, tiny fingers balled into a fist around Lauren's top.

"'M alright," she nodded, taking the empty seat beside him. Sam greeted the girl with a friendly smile.

"The question was, how do you respond, emotionally, to being trapped or feeling powerless? Remember, this is to help you sort through your feelings. This is not an interrogation and if you don't want to share, just say so, alright?" she reiterated for the new girl in the room. Lauren nodded. Harry inhaled.

"Well... I kind of implode. When I was in the house, the one thing that shook me more than anything else was watching Ira. I didn't know her as well as Sandra, but I could tell something was off even before it started. Niall would just drag her around by her hair, or you know, force her to... do things for him. I just felt so sick because we could hear all of it. Like, the shouting and the screaming and ... yeah. We knew what was happening and I wanted to step in obviously, but I was terrified like, I think we all were.

"That, you know, feeling guilty for not doing more, on top of having to be Liam's personal sex toy and then being slapped around by punters every night... it made me feel like I was disappearing into myself. Like, pieces of me were breaking off into thin air. I don't know, it was awful," Harry chuckled dryly, glancing over where Lauren touched his thigh.

"Lauren, you?" Sam simpered.

"Kind of the same, actually. I had Joanna, but sometimes - most times - she couldn't save me. And things only got worse when I had my baby. I hardly slept at night because I was worried one day I'd wake up and ... she'd be gone. I think that's what made me feel the most like, out of control. Just the fact that Liam could do anything to anyone anytime and there was nothing we could do to predict it or protect ourselves."

Lauren's words sucked him back into a dark place. It hadn't been easy for any of them to live the way they had for so long. Harry had felt like he was existing, floating, like a leaf on the wind with no control over who he was or where he would end up. At one point, Harry's biggest fear was losing himself. But then sometimes, when he was with Louis, the man listening to him talk about his past with gentle fingers combing through his curls, Harry no longer thought about, let alone worried about feeling powerless.

That was the best part about Louis: he may not have been the perfect fantasy superhero Harry dreamed him to be, and Louis couldn't always save Harry, but he had shown Harry his own ability. Harry didn't have to be a slave to his own bad decisions. He didn't have to feel guilty for the rest of his life about the mistakes he'd made in his youth.

Louis's love and support made Harry feel like he had every opportunity to do any be anything. He never intended to loop Louis into something neither of them were ready for. And the last thing he wanted was to become so dependent on the man's presence that he abandoned his own wish to become himself. But he wanted to fully embrace the life Louis had offered. He wanted to do more than just exist.   
  


"Before I let you go, I wanted to ask ... what is the one thing you wish you had said or maybe done to help your former selves stay hopeful? Because, even though this is still so difficult to wrap your minds around, you're free. You don't have to answer to Liam or Niall or  _anyone_  anymore. I believe this will help you stay hopeful for your next milestones, and then the next. This is to help you remember that even the worst situations have their end," Sam explained, capping her pen and tucking it behind her ear. She glanced around the room with somber, but hopeful eyes.

A throat was cleared. Harry looked up.

"Um, I'd probably tell myself that Liam was human. A shitty one at that– and that he would eventually fuck up. Not to be so afraid of him and just be patient for when he does," Mari said, scratching her knee. Liza nodded beside her.

"I'd tell myself to cut Niall's throat when I had the chance," Sandra said almost inaudibly, her eyes frozen with rage and regret. Harry wanted to reach over and touch her hand, but he knew the older woman would not respond well, so he refrained.

"Um... I'd tell myself not to run from my problems. Because you – can't. You'll escape one only to be faced with another and I think having a stable situation makes it easier to deal with anything, so," he winced at the truth in his own words, giving his shoulder a hardly comforting squeeze.

"And I'd tell myself to stay positive. Life sucks. We all have to deal with our fair amount of shit, but wallowing in it dangerous," Lauren kissed her baby's head, brushing her thumb against the soft of her cheek. Harry nodded, silently agreeing.

~ ❁ ~

After group, Lauren curled her fingers around Harry's wrist, a silent plea for him to stay and sit with her awhile. It felt like forever since they had a conversation that didn't involve teary eyes or frustrated breaths and near panic attacks— and being reconnected with one of his closest friends after so much uncertainty gave Harry a warm, settled feeling.

"How is she?" Harry asked gently. Lauren sighed, stroking her palm over her baby's smooth head.

"Jo? She's better. She kept getting frustrated at the hospital. She doesn't do well if she can't get up and move and do things for herself. But she's able to move around our room and get to the bathroom and stuff now. Sam brings her meals up to the room 'cause she's supposed to take it easy until we're sure her wounds won't get infected," The girl explained.

Harry nodded simply. He thought back to all those months before Louis — when all of them were still stuck deep in despondency over the unlikelihood of their salvation. Jo and Harry would go at it all the time over trivial things, of course, because real fighting didn't go over well with Liam, and it was much easier to blame one another for their frustrations than go to Liam about it. Back in those days, Harry could have sworn he wouldn't give one fuck if the girl were to find herself in real trouble.

Now, her pain seemed like the heaviest thing on his heart. They had already lost one sister and Harry could only imagine how he would feel if anything worse had happened to Jo. He wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing he escaped and left the other girls to die.

He could've never looked Lauren in the eyes again if that had happened. He knew how the younger girl saw him, how she looked up to him and respected his legacy enough to name her  _child_  after him. If Lauren had lost Jo, Harry would have taken away the one normal thing about her life. And she probably would have never forgiven him.

"Makes sense. Are you guys alright? Since – with everything that's happened?" he wondered.

"You mean getting out?" Lauren raised her brows, cupping her hands over Harrie's little ears. The baby garbled, confusedly.

"Hell yeah," she smiled gently. Harry chuckled.

"I mean, Jo hasn't had the chance to really enjoy it yet and it's obviously a process, but. Yeah. I'm mostly just relieved Harrie doesn't have to grow up in a world like that. And Keisha – that lady told us she's living with a foster family? I mean, I don't know the couple, but I'm sure it's probably better than where we had her,"

"Yeah, they're nice. At least, that's what Detective Morris said. I've been meaning to ask if I could go visit her? Just to make sure she's happy with them. The real goal is getting her back with her birth mom,"

"True. A girl needs her mother," Lauren agreed, subconsciously gripping her little girl and cuddling her closer to her chest. Harry nodded, a smile peeling at the corners of his mouth. Seeing Lauren hopeful and somewhat happy even after all of the unimaginable trials she had experienced was definitely the assurance he needed that anything was possible.

~ ❁ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, yeah, i'm back from the dead. woo hoo! i guess... so my excuse is i finished high school and started university. it was a rough transition. i kissed a few girls this summer, so that kept me busy. anyway, i'm still alive. i didn't mean to make you all fear the abandonment of this book. this update is mostly technical, hardly artistic and probably (definitely) won't make up for the time i was inactive, but it's all i got and i didn't want to make y'all wait for it any longer! hope you remember to LeAvE FeEdBaCk 


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